The Phantom's Return
by MargueriteandRoxtonever
Summary: It has been sixteen years since Christine left Erik behind with Raoul. The year is 1903. Chrissy, a poor teenage girl at the age of 16, has lived alone with her father below the New York Opera house since her mother died. Until one day, an older but very
1. The Basket

Disclaimer: I didn't come up with most of these characters, I didn't come up with the main version of it or anything like that. I don't own anything that's Phantom related, either. (Well, I do own one of the CD's, but that doesn't count!)

Summary: It has been sixteen years since Christine left Erik behind with Raoul. The year is 1903. Chrissy, a poor teenage girl at the age of 16, has lived alone with her father below the New York Opera house since her mother died. Until one day, an older but very beautiful woman comes to the opera house with her husband and very attractive son, Marc. Chrissy and Marc begin to fall for each other and begin to discover things about their parents' mysterious pasts. Can Chrissy and Marc discover the truth behind it all and do they have a chance of being together?  
The Phantom's Return

"Quickly," someone whispered in the dead, dark night, "We must do it now, before someone sees us!"

Two shawdoy figures rushed through the dark passage ways beneath the New York Opera House. The year was 1887. A man and a woman were looking for the small river that flowed beneath the opera house from the streets below. The woman was carrying a basket. Little did they know that another figure was watching them from the shadows.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" the man asked, as he took the basket from the woman.

"We have to!" the woman said, "Did you see it's face? It's hideous? We cannot live our lives with this! No, we set it afloat in the river. Someone else will find it and raise it or send it to the orphange!"

"And what if no one finds it?" the man asked.

"Then the thing shall go back to hell from where it came from!"

The woman placed the basket into the water. She gave it a small push and watched it float by in the slow current.

"No one will have seen us in here. If someone finds it, they will not know it is ours!" the woman said.

As fast as they had came, the man and the woman quickly left the river side underneath the opera house. As soon as they were out of sight, the creature stepped from the shadows.

A man, six years older now with a new mask upon his face, walked over to the basket which was floating by slowly. Curious as to what was inside it, he pulled it out of the flowing waters. He lifted off the lid to a surprising site.

Inside the basket lay a small, sleeping baby girl. She had dark curls on the top of her head and was dressed in what looked like her Christining dress. But her face, why her face was identical to the man that looked down upon her. For the man was The Phantom of the Opera.

"Her parents just left her here to die?" Erik said, starring at the little girl. For he knew that there was no chance of a basket of this size to be able to get out of the passage way.

Trying to decide what he should do with the baby, she began to cry.

Erik had an idea. He scooped the tiny little girl out of her basket and rocked her in his arms. She quieted quickly and fell back to sleep with contentment. Erik walked the little baby back to his labyrinth below the New York Opera House to care for the child.

"Don't be afraid, my daughter." he whispered to her. "Daddy's here, he'll protect you, my little Christine."

It was early one Friday morning outside the New York Opera House. The sky had turned a steel blue and they stars were fading. The giant river that flowed underneath the opera house was glistening in what little light was in the air. A shadowy figure was wading it's feet in the icy waters and singing a soft tune to itself.

The figure was a young, 16-year-old young lady. Christine was her name, but to her father, she was Chrissy. Chrissy had long, black, curly hair and bright brown eyes. She had the singing voice more beautiful than a choir of angels. She dreamed of being on the stage singing opera for all of New York to hear, but one small, but ever so crucial detail stood in her way.

Chrissy wore a mask over her face. She was born with a terrible skin infection that made her face hideous to look at. Her father, Erik, always engouraged her not to wear a mask. However, it was her choice to wear it. Erik had the same condition. He also wore a mask and rarely ever saw him without it.

Chrissy, still singing softly in the cold, early morning air, was looking around. Her father hated her to be outside. He always told her that people of society never would accept people like them. Chrissy, following her father's wishes, would always watch the little children playing in the streets from a small window that was the only source of sunlight in the entire tunnels and passages underneath the opera house. Ever since she could remember, she had dreamed of playing the fun, inspriring games with the other children. Never had Chrissy had a real friend, other than her father. The games they would play were always fun. She had had more singing and music lessons than she knew, but never had she had real, child's play. A small tear fell from her eye as she thought about what might have been if she had not been born with such a condition, which, her father always told her, she, unfortunately, inhiereted from him.

Suddenly, the sound of horses stopped her quiet, sorrowful singing. Chrissy quickly pulled her feet from the freezing river and ran around the outside of the opera house to the front. There, she saw an unusual site.

A carriage had just pulled up in front of The New York Opera House. Two gorgeous brown, throughbred horses were puffing out warm, foggy breath in the morning air. The coachman climbed down from his post of steering the carriage and opened the door.

Out from the carriage stepped a handsome, some what aged man. Even in the dim morning light, Chrissy could see the gray shinning in his brown hair. He held his hand out to allow a woman, also aged, but very beautiful, out. She had brown curly hair. Chrissy thought she looked oddly familiar, as if her father had shown her a picture a long time ago of a similar woman.

The next moment, a young boy, around the age of 20, followed the woman. He resembled the man greatly, but much younger.

"Oh, my goodness!" Christine gasped. He was the most handsome 20-year-old boy Christine had ever seen, and that wasn't because it was the only 20-year-old boy she had ever seen.

"You're going to perform here tonight, Mom?" the boy asked the woman.

"Yes, Marc," the woman said, "It's a bit different than Paris or London, but I think we will enjoy it here."

The woman looked at her husband. He was starring at the opera house apprehensively.

"Darling, what is it?" she asked.

"Nothing, dearest, it's just that...I'm always afraid he might be here."

"Oh, honestly Raoul!" the woman replied, "Everytime we go to a new opera house whether it be in a new city or a new country, you're always afraid he might be here. It's been 22 years for goodness sakes and no one has seen hide nor hair of him. He's gone and he's not here."

"You can talk!" the man named Raoul replied, "He didn't try to kill you!"

"No, he just tried to force me to stay with him for all eternity! Relax, darling, we are fine! He is not here."

The man named Raoul smiled and took his wife's hand as they walked up the stairs to the front door. Chrissy knew for a fact that the owner, Mr.Harrison, who always paid her father his monthly salary and always kept Box 5 open for them both so they could watch the operas, would already be there to greet this family. He always arrived early.

As his parents went up the stairs, the boy named Marc was looking at the outside of the opera house. Chrissy had found him intriging, not only was he extremely handsome, he and his family also spoke French. The only other people who could also speak French like her was her father, Erik, and Mr. Harrison.

Chrissy continued starring at Marc. But, a moment later, his eyes, feeling her gaze, snapped over to her. She was hoping it would be too dark for him to see her. Unfortunately, she was wrong.

"Hello, what are you doing their, Mlle?"

Chrissy gasped again. She fled in fright as quick as she could back behind the opera house and over to her secret entrance near the river. Marc ran to catch up with her, but by the time he reached the back of the opera house, she was gone.


	2. At the Opera

Chrissy crawled out of the dark tunnel that lead from the outside world to her and her father's home. The sun, which was shooting pink and purple light into the sky, was showing the tiniest bit of light through the small and only window of the laybrinth. As quick as she could, Chrissy ran down the passage ways and across the river to her father.

Erik had arisen a few hours ago. He was working on a new opera at the piano in the living room.

There were three rooms to their little home. One was the living room. This was the room that Erik and Chrissy spent most of their time. The piano and phonograph was kept in there along with a coach, a table in which they ate their meals, and a small stove and counter space for cooking their meals. The room just across from the piano was Erik's room. Next to that was the the third and final room. Chrissy's room. Each had a bathroom and a closet where they kept their small number of cloths.

"Daddy!" Chrissy cried as she ran in, forgetting that her father didn't know she wasn't in her room. Normally, Chrissy could sneak back into her room without her father noticing. He was usually so interested in his work, he wouldn't hear anything but the notes playing in his head. But Chrissy was so excited, it slipt her mind.

Erik turned around as he saw his daughter running towards him through the front door at the top of the stone steps."Chrissy!" he cried, "Why were you not in your room? Did you go outside, young lady?"

Chrissy realized that she couldn't tell her father of the new family yet. She knew that she would have to tell him where she saw them and since she was only allowed to wonder around the opera house in the evening when everyone else was watching the show, she would have to tell him she that she went outside.

"No, sir!" she replied quickly, "I was just...wading my feet in the river...underneath the opera house, of course. I would never leave without your permission!"

Not entirely satisfied, Erik turned back to his work. Chrissy was heading off to her room to dress before she made breakfast. Just as she opened the door, her father spoke again.

"Oh, Chrissy, we're going to watch the opera tonight." he said, not turning around.

Chrissy was confused, "But...Daddy, we already saw this show and you said you didn't like it very much! Why do you want to see it again?"

Erik turned to face his daughter, "They have a new singer for the lead female role and I want to see if she's any good. Of course, she will no where near be as good as you or...your mother."

Chrissy gasped. Erik rarely ever talked about her mother. He had told her she had died giving birth to her. Christine had never seen a picture of her, but Erik told her she was very beautiful.

"Oh," Chrissy said, not really sure what to say, "Ok, well, that will be interesting." and she went into her room to dress.

Later that day, 7:55 percisely, Erik and Chrissy went sercretly to the empty box of box 5. But when they reached it, they were surprised to hear talking behind the curtain.

"Is there someone in our private box, Daddy?" Chrissy asked.

Erik did not answer. He had a look of furry in his eyes and Chrissy knew better than to ask again."Come, Chrissy!" he said finally, "we shall sit in box 7."

"But, Daddy!" Chrissy urged, "No ever sits in box 7! Since the fire of 1901, it's been damanged and shut down!"

"Exactly!" Erik replied. "If we wish for no one to disturb us, we must sit where no one else will. After the opera, we shall speak to Mr. Harrison as to why he sold our box!"

Chrissy followed her father to the burned and broken box 7. Just as they sat down, the lights flashed signaling the start of the show. Mr. Harrison came out from behind the curtain to inform the viewers.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." the man said, "I regret that tonight shall be my last night at The New York Opera House. I have sold it to M.Firmin and his wife Mdm. Andre-Firmin. Please welcome them to our lovely theater."

The crowd applauded as a man in his late thirties and his wife walked out onto the stage. Behind them followed a young girl who resembled the M. Firmin greatly and looked around Chrissy's age. Chrissy turned to tell her father this. But stopped when she saw the look of deepest loathing in his face.

M.Firmin thanked the crowd and told them how happy he, his wife, and his daughter were to be running one of the best opera houses in the world. Finally, he was finished. Mme.Andre-Firmin finally spoke.

"Now," she said, "may I be the first to present to you our newest opera singer who shall be taking the place of Helena Miller. May I present, singing for the first time in the United States. Mme. Christine Viscount de Chagny."

The crowd applauded, Chrissy could see a few people muttering to their neighbors with interested looks on their faces. She turned to look at her father, who never looked so angry.

The Firmins and Mr. Harrison left the stage. The lights darkened and the curtain opened. The woman Chrissy had seen that morning, who she was sure was Christine Viscount de Changy, came out on stage and began singing. Chrissy had never heard anyone singing so beautifully.

"Chrissy," Erik said, "Would you excuse me for a moment. I need to do something."

Without waiting for his daughter to answer, he left box 7. Chrissy watched Mme. Viscount de Chagny for a while, admiring her great voice and beauty. Then, she noticed him.

Across the room in box 1 sat none other than the man, whom Chrissy knew must be the viscount and their son Marc sitting and watching the prima donna. Chrissy sat starring at Marc for some time. Finally, he looked right across at her.

Chrissy pulled back, trying to hide herself in the shadows. But it didn't work. Marc could still see her and he waved.

Chrissy, stood up and walked out of the box. She decided she would wait for a while down on the first floor. By then, her father should have been back. As she passed box 5, she could hear what they were saying inside.

"...yes, she was born in France. She's the daughter of the famous violinist, Daae. I believe her madian name is Christine Daae."

"Daae?" Chrissy said to herself as she walked past the box, "Why does that name sound so familiar?"

Chrissy made it to the first floor. She poked her head in through one of the doors by the stage. Christine was still singing beautifully, but up in box 1, only the Viscount sat. Marc was no where to be seen.

At that moment, the lights went black. Mme. Viscount de Chagny stopped singing. The crowd was almost silent, only the whispering nervously to their neighbors as to what was going on was heard.

Then, Chrissy heard it. Her father's diabolical laughter ringing across the stage.

"Why would he ruin an opera? Especially with someone with such a beautiful voice!"

"Talking to yourself?" someone said behind her, "That's the first sign that you're going insane, you know!"

Chrissy jumped. She turned around. The only light in the entire hallway was from the moon beams that danced through the window panes. It was dim, but she could make out the young man's face.

Marc Viscount de Chagny was standing right before her. 


	3. Half Past the Midnight Hour

Thanks you guys. I don't feel so self concious anymore! Well, here's the next part. Believe me, there is plenty more to go!

"Oh my god!" Chrissy exclaimed. She started to back away from the boy, but he grabbed her arm.

"Don't go!" Marc said, grabbing her arm, "I've been searching for you all day! I saw you this morning. Why were you watching my family when we arrived here?"

Chrissy didn't know what to say. She had never spoken to another person other than her father before.

"You do talk, don't you?" Marc asked.

"Um," Chrissy said, her voice shaking. "Yes...yes, I do. It's just that...I've never spoken to another human being before...other than my father."

"A beautiful girl like you?" Marc asked, "You must be lying. I'm sure you have thousands of boyfriends."

Chrissy was stunned when he called her beautiful, "Obviously, you've never seen my face, Monsieur."

"Well, no." Marc replied, "But, I can tell by the sound of your voice."

They were both silent for a minute. Marc still kept a hold of her arm. Chrissy was glad he did. She had never felt another person's touch before, either. His hands weren't cold like her father's were from being in the laybrinth for so long. They were warm. Chrissy had never felt real, natural warmth before. She and Erik were naturally cold from being underground.

"My name is Marc Viscount de Chagny," Marc finally said.

"Yes, I know," Chrissy replied, "I heard your name this morning after you arrived."

"Well, you have the pleasure of knowing my name," Marc said, "Might I have the pleasure of knowing yours?"

"Um," Chrissy stammered, "Yes, it's Christine."

"Christine!" he said, "That's my mother's name. But, you probably already know that. What's your last name?"

"I don't have a last name," she replied, "It's just Christine. But, my father calls me Chrissy."

"Really?" he said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to call you that as well."

"Of course, Monsieur!" said Chrissy, "You're more than welcome to call me Chrissy!"

Chrissy saw Marc raising his hand in the moonlight. He touched the side of Chrissy's face that wasn't hidden by her mask.

"You're skin is so soft!" he implied, brushing her cheek. Christine kept wishing he'd keep his hand there and, more importantly, not move it to the left side of her face.

"I bet your lips are just as soft," he continued, "I bet they feel like an angel's. Of course, that would make sense since I am touching an angel."

Chrissy was melting from his words. She closed her eyes as her ears soaked in the pleasure of his voice. She felt like Juliet when she met Romeo at the Capulet's party. Marc was inching his face closer and closer to Chrissy's. She didn't care anymore if it was against her father's wishes, or if he found out about her mask. All she wanted was to taste his kiss, to taste a kiss, for the first time.

A second later, Marc's lips pressed against Chrissy's. She pressed back gently, but pulled away, inviting him in closer. He took the message and moved in. Chrissy placed her her hand behind his neck. Marc wrapped his arms around her.

"Chrissy?" someone was calling. It was her father's voice. "Chrissy, where are you?"

Marc finished his kiss. He pulled away from Chrissy.

"My father!" she exclaimed, "I'm sorry, I must go!"

Reluctantly, Chrissy pulled away from Marc's grip.

"Wait!" Marc cried, "You can't leave? What if I never see you again?"

"I'm so very sorry, but my father will be furious if he finds me with you!"

"When shall I see you again?" Marc asked.

Chrissy thought for a minute, "Tomorrow," she said, "at half past the midnight hour. By then, my father shall either be asleep or so emerssed in his work, he won't notice me leave. Meet me in the back of the opera house where the river rans out from underneath it. I'll be there."

Marc kissed her lips again. She wanted to stay with him. She almost did, until she heard her father's voice grow closer.

"Really! I must go!" she urged and she left him alone in the dark. A moment later, the power came back on. Marc looked around him, but Chrissy was gone.   
Chrissy stayed in her room most of the next day. She barely had spoken to her father about where she had been when he knocked the power out. She didn't even care about asking him why he did shut down the power for a while. After the power had been fixed, the opera restarted, but Erik was so furious, they both went back to the laybrinth. Chrissy didn't care, she wanted to be alone in her room, anyway. Erik had spent the rest of the night working on his new opera. Chrissy changed into her night dress and layed under her covers dreaming about Marc. She dreamt of his voice, she dreamt of his touch, she dreamt of his kiss. 

At breakfast the next morning, which Erik made, Chrissy ate a few bites, but mostly pushed her food around her plate.

"Are you feeling ill, Chrissy?" Erik asked, for it wasn't uncommon for either of them to come down with colds and flus in such a cold environment where they had no doctor or real medicine. 

"Not really," Chrissy said, "My stomach just feels a bit naesous. I'm probably coming down with a cold is all, but I'm no stranger to illness." She wasn't about to tell him she was feeling naesous because of the fluttery feeling of Marc in her stomach.

The rest of the day, Chrissy spent in her room. She told her father she was just too ill and tired to sing that day and didn't touch any lunch or dinner. She went to bed early.

Hours later, Chrissy woke up. She looked at the clock that was on the mantle above the fireplace in her bedroom. It said 12:35.

"Oh my gosh, I'm late!" she exclaimed. She dressed quickly. As she reached her door, she listen for a sound of the piano. The room beyond was silent. Chrissy poked her head out. The candles were the only sign of life and movement in the room. Her father had gone to bed.

Chrissy dashed over to the tallest candle in the room. She placed it in a holder and rushed up the stone steps to the door that lead out of the laybrinth. Chrissy darted down the dark tunnels and passage ways until she reached the river bank. Chrissy climbed across the rickety bridge she had secretly built years ago and made it to the stone passage she used to get to the outside world.

Marc was sitting alone by the water's edge. He had brought a candle for a source of light. Marc pulled out his pocket watch. By the dim light of the candle, he could see it was 1:00.

"She must not be coming," he said disappointedly to himself.

Just as he stood up to leave, he heard what sounded like concrete stones moving behind him. Slowly and cautiously, he turned around. By the time he had, Chrissy was standing before him.

"I was afraid you weren't coming!" he said, "I've been waiting here since 11:30, I was so excited."

"I'm so sorry!" Chrissy replied, "I over slept! I didn't sleep much the night before!"

"I didn't sleep a wink!" said Marc, "I couldn't stop thinking about you!"

He walked over to her and kissed her. Apparently, in the dim candle light, Chrissy thought, he couldn't see her mask.

"Wait," she said, pushing Marc away. It took every once of power she had to do so, "Marc, wait! I don't think you know what you are getting yourself into!"

"Chrissy!" he said, "I was at the bay this morning. I walked all the way to the bay at dawn this very morning and I knew that, even though I've only met you once and even though I've never truely seen your face, I want to spend to rest of my life with you!"

"No, you don't!" Chrissy replied.

"Yes, I do!" Marc rebutted.

"No, you don't, Marc. You don't know me! You don't know my father! You don't even know what I look like! Marc, I think you're rushing this just a little fast!"

"You can't honestly tell me you're not the slightest in love me!" Marc urged.

"I don't even know what that feels like, Marc!" Chrissy cried, turning away from him.

"Haven't you ever been in love before, Chrissy?" Marc asked.

"No," she said quietly, not turning around, "I've never spoken to another human being other than my father, you know that! Only he knows I exsist. My mother did at one point...but it didn't last long. She died not even 5 minutes after I was born."

"No one knows you exsist?" Marc asked, "But, how? Why? Surely, people on the street cannot ignore you when you walk by."

"I've never walked on the streets before," Chrissy said, "I only come outside of the opera house at night when no one is around to see me."

"You live in the opera house?" Marc asked, confused, "Why?"

"Look," Chrissy said, turning around, "You were born in France. Have you ever heard of the story of The Phantom of the Opera?"

"Yes," Marc said, "My mother told me about him once, but she didn't tell me much else. She said he disappered and was never heard from again. Why do you ask?"

"She told you how he wore a mask?" Chrissy asked.

"Yes, but, what's that got-"

"It's got everything to do with it!" Chrissy interrupted. She stepped closer to Marc.

Chrissy took Marc's hand. She placed it onto the right side of her cheek. Remember how you only felt this side of my face?"

"Yes," Marc answered.

"What do you feel on this side?" she asked, moving his hand over.

Marc felt his hand press against her face, but instead of feeling the softness of her skin, he felt the hard, smooth surface of a mask upon her face.

"The Phantom of the Opera lives here, Marc." Chrissy said, " and I am his daughter, The Phantess of the Opera." 


	4. The Opera Angel

Chrissy made it back to her room a few moments later. Marc hadn't said anything for a while after she had told him the truth. She was reliving what had happened afterward, even though she didn't want to.

"Say something, Marc!" Chrissy pleaded in a whisper.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice almost as quiet and scared as hers.

"How exactly do you tell someone something like this?" she cried, "It's not exactly the best way to break the ice when you first meet someone!"

"You could have told me before I kissed you!" Marc replied.

Chrissy bit her lip. She turned away from Marc.

"You didn't want to, did you?" Marc asked.

Chrissy shoke her head. Tears started to fall out of her eyes. She was so grateful that Marc couldn't see her crying.

"I'm sorry," she said through jagged breaths, "I knew what you were going to do, and...I'm just so sorry. I had never felt a real kiss before."

Marc didn't say anything right away. Chrissy just stood there with her back to him, tears running down from her eyelids.

"Chrissy, I don't really know what to say," he said, "I mean, I still feel for you, but, my mother always told me that nobody could trust the Phantom."

"How dare you say that!" Chrissy said, wiping around, "You don't even know my father! You don't even know me! And your mother certainly doesn't know my father! Where did she find out everything about him, anyway?"

"Chrissy!" Marc said, "You need to calm down, I wasn't-"

"Just leave me alone, Marc!" Chrissy cried. She ran around the side of the opera house, tears still spilling out of her eyes. Marc went to chase after her, but, once again, when he got there, she was gone.

"How does she do that?" he whispered to himself before walking away.

"Wouldn't you like to know!" Chrissy whispered to herself up in the tall oak tree that was next to the wall. When Marc was out of site, Chrissy climbed back down and snuck back through the passageway to the laybrinth, feeling as if she had lost everything in the world that had ment anything to her.

Now, Chrissy stood with her back to the door of her room. She sunk to her knees and buried her face in them, letting her tears soak through her dress. She must had been crying much harder and louder than she thought because, a moment later, there was a knock on her door.

"Chrissy?" Erik asked through the wood, "Is that you Chrissy? What's wrong?"

"Um," Chrissy said, rushing around to put on her night dress, "Nothing, Daddy, I was just had a bad dream is all!"

Quickly, she jumped under the covers just as her father stepped into the room.

"About what, my dear?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

"Momma," she said, saying the first thing that popped into her head.

"You haven't dreamt about your mother for ten years, since you were six. Why all of a sudden has your nightmare come back?" he asked.

"I don't know," Chrissy replied, "It just did!"

"Well," Erik said, "Why don't you come out here and see what I'm working on now."

"Oh, have you started a new opera, Daddy?" Chrissy asked, following her father out of the room.

"No," Erik said, "it's just a way I think I may be able to get our box back, and my monthly salary."

"The new managers took away your monthly salary as well, Daddy?" she asked.

"Oh, yes!" Erik replied, "I'm sending them a private note so as to persuade them to give it back."

"A private note?" Chrissy asked, suddenly interested, "How do you do that?"

"Oh, I am not going to be leaving it for them. That will be your job."

"Me?" Chrissy was puzzled.

"Yes, Chrissy, you know the passage ways and the secret entrances to every room and hall way in the entire opera house better than anyone. Most of which are much too small for a man of my size to fit through. Besides, I haven't had the best of luck with...new managers."

"Whatever do you mean, Daddy?" Chrissy asked, knowing very little about her father's past.

"It's not important, my dear!" Erik answered hastily. He sealed the envelope that was on the piano in the living room with some wax and handed it to Chrissy.

"Now," he said, "Get dressed and deliver this as soon as you can to the manager's office. Preferably before they arrive this morning. Unless you are still feeling ill or upset."

"No," Chrissy said, looking down at the wax sealing the envelope, "No, I'm feeling much better!"

Chrissy dashed into her room, she had a sudden idea of how to get Marc to talk to her again without her being there.  
Around 8 a.m. that morning, the carriage that M. and Mme. Andre-Firmin rode in arrived at the opera house. They're daughter accompanyed them.

"I still don't understand why you won't accept Lord Henry's porposal, Aniette." Mme. Andre-Firmin was saying to her daughter as they entered the office.

"Mother, please, I'm not ready for marriage yet! I'm only 17 years old and I don't even love him." Aniette replied.

"What's love got to do with it?" Mme. Firmin asked.

"Love's got everything to do with it!" she answered, "I noticed that when you were my age, you married someone that you were in love with!"

M. Firmin, who was not listening, had picked up two notes on his desk.

"Marie," he asked, starring at the envelopes, "did you leave these notes here last night?"

Mme. Firmin came over by her husband's side to look at the notes, "No, I can honestly say I haven't. Are they addressed to you?"

"One is," M. Firmin said, "the other is addressed to the Viscount's son, Marc."

"Marc?" someone said as she walked through the door of the office, "What does my son have to do with anything?"

Christine Viscount de Chagny and Marc had just entered the office.

"Well, Mme. Viscount de Chagny," Mme. Firmin said, "This note was left here for your son."

Mme. Firmin handed Christine the letter. Christine examined it for a moment.

"'To: Marc Viscount de Chagny, From: O.A.' Who's 'O.A.?'" Christine asked.

Marc shrugged. He took the letter from his mother and stepped out into the hall. Aniette followed him.

"Who's that other note for, Monsieur?" Christine asked.

"Why, it's for me, Madame." he said, "'To: M.Firmin, From:O.G.' Who could that be?"

Christine practically froze to death when she heard those words, "Did you just say 'O.G.'?"

"Yes, Madame, I did," M. Firmin replied.

Christine walked right over to M. Firmin and snatched the note from his hands. She was muttering something, more to herself than anyone.

"No," she said, "No, it can't be. He's gone! He can't be here. He wouldn't know I was here if he was..."

"Who is that from, Marc?" Aniette asked. She had followed Marc into the hall, egar to see who had left him the letter.

"I think I know," he said, ripping open the top. He pulled out a letter with very neat writing.

Dear Marc,  
I'm sorry that things didn't go as either of us had planned last night. I know I must have frightened you a bit when I told you about my life and I'm sure that you are angry at me now, but Marc, I feel simply dreadful about our meeting. Please, I must see you again. Meet me tonight on the roof of the opera house at the beginning of the second act in tonight's show. I promise I will be there on time. I understand if you do not wish to come, but Marc I had to at least try to tell you how I really feel. See you tonight, hopefully.  
Affectionately yours,  
The Opera Angel "Oh," he said, "That's what O.A. stood for, the Opera Angel."

"Excuse me?" Aniette asked.

Marc, after making Aniette swear she'd tell no one about his new friend, told her all about Chrissy. Her mouth was wide open when she had finished.

"You mean the story about the...the phantom is real?" Aniette asked, her voice shaking.

Marc nodded.

"My grandfathers told me that story so many times, but they always said it was just a myth. It was proven that he never exsisted!"

"My mother and father told me the same thing when I was just a little boy." Marc replied.

Marc was silent for a while, he read the letter over in over, lost in deep thought. Finally, Aniette spoke.

"Marc?" she said, "You're not actually considering meeting with this girl, are you?"

Again, Marc was silent for a moment. He looked up a second later.

"Well, don't you think I should?" Marc asked.

"Hold on a second." she said. She grabbed Marc by the arm and pulled him into a broom closet down the corridor.

"Are you crazy?" she asked. Even in the dark, Marc could tell she had a look of the utmost shock on her face.

"Well, Aniette, you don't know her like I do!" Marc replied.

"Apparently, you don't know her that well, either from what I hear from your story. I say you forget about her!"

"Why?"

"Look," Aniette said, "If everything my grandfathers have told me is true, then The Phantom of the Opera is a very dangerous man. How do we know that the Phantess isn't as dangerous?"

"That's a good point, Annie, I didn't even think of that." Marc said, "But I at least have to give it a shot. If I don't, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. I just have to go."

"Fine!" Ani said, "But I'm going with you!"

Meanwhile, back in M. Firmin's office, Christine was opening the letter addressed to M. Firmin. She read the letter silently for a moment. When she finished, her face was whiter than snow. She handed the letter back to M. Firmin with a shaking hand. He took it and Christine walked over to a chair, where she practically collapsed, covering her face with her hand.

"What did the letter say, Mme?" Mme. Firmin asked.

"I can't believe it's him!" was all she could say, panic in her voice, "How did he know I was here? How?"

Curiousity finally getting the better of M. Firmin, he took the letter and read aloud.

Dear M. Firmin,  
First, might I add, I would like to welcome you and your wife to the theater. It will surely be a shame to lose Mr. Harrison, he was such a nice manager. Of course, if you happen to keep things the same, I don't see why we can't get along.  
The new singer you chose is absolutely exquisite, of course most of her talent is thanks to me. I surely have missed her voice. It is nice to see what my gift has brought her, fame and fortune. I plan to be paying her a visit sometime soon. Her and that husband of hers. I'm sure they have missed me almost as much as I've missed them.  
Now, there is the matter of my monthly salary and mine and my daughter's private box. Of course, I understand you are new and last night was just a misunderstanding, but I hope that this will never happen again. I'm sure Mr. Harrison told you of how much my monthly salary is, and if he didn't...well, just speak to your father and your father-in-law. They'll be able to tell you.  
I sincerely hope that we shall not have anymore problems. If not, you may go on running the opera house normally and efficently, and tell Mlle. Christine that I shall be seeing her very soon.

Your obidient servant,  
The Opera Ghost

M. Firmin finished the letter utterly confused. He looked over at Christine who still had her hand over her face.

"What does this mean, Mme.?" he asked.

Christine looked up at M. and Mme. Firmin. She was still white-faced and looked utterly confused.

"Well," she said, "I knew your fathers very well, I'm sure they told you the story of the Phantom of the Opera."

The Firmins nodded, interest and curiousity shinning in their eyes.

"Well," she said, "I guess...after he disappeared...he must have been following me for years and now he's finally decided to speak here!"

Mme. Firmin gasped and placed a hand over her mouth.

"I can't believe it!" M. Firmin said, going over to comfort his wife. "Have you met with...him?"

"No!" she said, "I didn't even know he was still alive until just now!"

Christine stood up. She was shaking all over. She took the letter from M. Firmin. "But, there's one thing I don't understand."

"What?" asked. Mme. Firmin, taking the hand away from her mouth.

"He said 'Now, there is the matter of my monthly salary and mine and my daughter's private box.' Last time I saw him over 20 years ago, he didn't have a daughter."

"Do you think it's possible that he was married?" M. Firmin asked.

"I don't know," Christine said, "But I truely hope he was, it would make everything alot easier."

At that moment, there was a knock on the door, which made all three of them jump.

"Who is it?" Mme. Firmin asked after a moment.

"It's M. Viscount de Chagny." Raoul said from the other side, which made Christine even more scared.

"Please!" she begged in a whisper, "Don't tell him about this! He's always been a bit shaken up about the Phantom, even more than I."

"Why is that?" M. Firmin asked.

"Last time we encountered him, he...he almost killed him. This was a long time ago, we weren't even married then. Please, don't breath a word!"

Mme. Firmin nodded and slowly walked over to the door. Christine hid the note behind her back as Raoul walked in.

"Just thought I'd come and see what was keeping Christine." he said, looking over at his wife. A look of concern crossed his face when he saw how white she was.

"My darling, what is troubling you?" He asked, coming over. Christine clutched the note tightly.

"N-nothing!" she said, trying to hide the panic in her voice. Worry and terror crept slowly through her vains and Raoul put a hand on his wife's ice cold face.

"Are you sure?" he asked, "You don't exactly look normal, my dear."

"Everything's fine, Raoul, darling, I think it's just the...New York atmosphere! I mean, we are very close to the harbor and you know, I've never been a fan of salt air."

"Right," Raoul nodded, not completely convinced, "What's that you've got behind your back?" he asked, trying to look over he shoulder.

"Oh, that's just a letter of mine!" M. Firmin said, rushing over and taking it from Christine. "But, I don't need it anymore, so I'll just diguard of it!"

Quickly, M. Firmin throw the Phantom's note into the fire place. It shriveled up in a matter of seconds.

"Oh," Raoul said, "Well, then, I guess Christine and I will be on our way."

Raoul began to lead Christine from the office. She looked back at the Firmin's, mouthed a quick "Thank-you" while Raoul wasn't looking and left with her husband. As the door shut, M. Firmin picked up the phone.

"Who are you calling, dear?" Mme. Firmin asked.

"Our fathers." he said, "Apparently, we have a few money matters to discuss."

Storys below them, Chrissy was climbing through a very small, dark tunnel. She climbed out a second later, dusted off her dress and ran down the passage ways and across the river and into her laybrinth. Erik was waiting for her.

"Did you deliver the letter?" he asked with batted breath.

"Yes," she replied.

"Did you watch for an answer through the passage way?" he asked.

"Yes," Chrissy said again. Although she would have liked to watch Marc and his reaction to his letter, she had promised her father to wait for a reaction from the Firmins. "I also have some news. The Viscount's wife was there. She read the note first and she grew very frightened. She said she knew you over 20 years ago and you tried to kill the Viscount. Is this true? Was this before you met Momma?"

Erik looked taken a back at first, but quickly recovered. "I have absolutely no idea what they are talking about."

"But you said in that note that you knew her and most of her singing talent was thanks you. Was she a student of yours?"

"Yes, she was, but she left after she got engaged." Erik turned away as he said this. He walked over to his piano.

"Was I named after her, Daddy?" Chrissy asked.

"Christine!" Erik cried, whipping around, "How dare you ask so many questions. Go to your room!"

Chrissy was shocked. Her father never raised her voice to her. He never cared before about the questions she would ask. Why all of a sudden now?

Reluctantly, Chrissy went into her room. Oh well. If her father wasn't going to answer her wonderings, she wasn't going to worry about it. She had more important things on her mind and a while to think about them. For it was a long time before the second act of that night's performance. 


	5. The Roof

Hours later, close to 10 o'clock that evening, Chrissy made her way secretly to the roof of the opera house. She sat on the ledge for what seemed like hours, when really it was really only a quarter of an hour.

"Chrissy?" someone said behind her. Chrissy whipped around.

"Marc!" she exclaimed, jumping back onto the roof. She couldn't help herself. She quickly rushed over to him and throw her arms around him. Marc followed suit and hugged her back.

She stayed like that for a moment, her eyes closed as she soaked in the way he felt, the way he smelled. When she opened her eyes, she noticed another girl, much closer to Chrissy in age, standing behind him.

"Who's that?" she asked.

Marc looked behind him. He and Chrissy let go and Marc walked over to the girl.

"Chrissy, this is a friend of mine, Aniette Andre-Firmin, Ani, this is my friend, Chrissy, The Phantess of the Opera."

Both girls were silent for a while, just staring at each other. Niether one wanted to be the first to speak.

"It's nice to meet you, Mlle. Andre-Firmin." Chrissy finally said.

"The pleasure's all mine, Mlle...Phantess." Ani replied.

"Chrissy, please." she said, "Not too many people call me Mlle. Phantess."

"From what I hear, not to many people know you exsist." Ani said.

"Just what's that suppose to mean?" Chrissy asked annoyed.

"Girls, please, don't start fighting." Marc pleaded.

"Well why did you bring her here?" asked Chrissy. "I never said anything about you bringing an audience to the roof, I just asked for you."

"I know, Chrissy, but she...she wanted to make sure you weren't dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Chrissy cried. "You think I'm dangerous? Marc Viscount de Chagny?"

"I know you are not dangerous, Chrissy!" Marc exclaimed, rushing over to her, "But...she's also heard the stories of your father as well."

Chrissy turned to Ani, "Well, despite what people may have told you, my father is not dangerous and he's probably the most trustworthy person I know and I'm not just saying that because he's basically the only person I've known my whole life!"

"A bit high strung, isn't she?" Annie asked.

"Annie!" Marc said, "Look, you've met her, now could you just go and be a look out for a while? Please?"

Annie hesitated. "Fine!" she said, heading over to the door, she climbed down the hundreds of stairs and shut the door behind her.

"Not exactly a people person." Marc said.

"I can see that." Chrissy replied, walking over to the ledge again.

"Well, Chrissy, " Marc said, walking up behind her, "You did ask me up here, what did you want to say?"

Chrissy was silent for a minute. She had rehersed so many times in her bedroom what she wanted to say, and now that the moment was upon her, she was a loss for words.

"Chrissy?" Marc asked again.

"Well, first of all." she said, still not wanting to face Marc, "I want to apologize for what happened last night. I should have told before you kissed me. And also, I over reacted. I hope you can forgive me."

Marc walked over to Chrissy. He didn't say a word. Marc simple pulled Chrissy into a soft kiss which turned very strong and passionate after a moment. She wrapped his arms around his neck. He pulled her waist close to him. Chrissy completely surrendered to him, lost in his arms.

A second later, they broke apart, but stayed in each other's arms. Chrissy rested her head on his shoulder.

"You feel so wonderful, Marc." Chrissy said, breathing in his scent.

"I thought I was never going to hold you in my arms again." Marc said, kissing her the top of her head.

They were silent for a while, just lost in the moment. Finally, Marc spoke.

"I love you, Chrissy." Marc said, once again.

Chrissy pulled away from Marc. She turned away. "Marc, you can't!" she said.

"Why?" he asked, grabbing her by the arm, "Why do you continue to say that?"

"I love you, Marc! I love you so much and I'd give my life for you. But how can you honestly tell me that you love me when...when you haven't even seen my face?"

"Then let me see it and I will prove to you that it doesn't matter to me what you look like!" Marc urged.

"I can't do that Marc. No one has ever seen my face apart from my father. You'll be driven insane by the sight of it." Chrissy pleaded.

"Chrissy, if you truely love me, you'll let me see your face. Without the mask!"

Chrissy looked up at the full moon shiny over the beautiful city of New York. "Ok," she whispered.

Chrissy slowly removed the mask from her face. She held it down on her side in her left hand. She took Marc's hand in her right and led him to where the moon was shinning brightest on the roof.

"Are you sure," she asked, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"Yes," Marc answered.

Slowly and reluctantly, Chrissy turned around. She stopped when she was right in front of Marc's eyes.

Terrified of what Marc was thinking, Chrissy said nothing. She stood there in horror, waiting for the blow to fall.

"Oh my god." he said, more to himself than to Chrissy, "I can't believe it."

Chrissy still said nothing, she just hang her head.

"You truely are the most beautiful person I've ever seen." Marc said.

Chrissy looked up in disbelief. "How can you say that? I'm hideous!"

"Not to me." Marc said.

He kissed Chrissy again. She seemed to melt as she felt his lips again. She dropped her mask right at her feet as she throw her arms around him.

An hour or so later, down below them in the opera house, Christine had just finished the opera and headed to M. Firmin's office, still in costume. She didn't even bother knocking. She brust right in.

"Well?" she asked, "Have you gotten any other notes from O.G."

"No," M. Firmin said. "Have you seen or spoken with him yet?"

Christine shook her head. Suddenly, they heard Mme. Firmin's voice crying out in the hall.

"But, Monsieur, I think that Christine has personal business with my husband right now!"

"What could be so personal that I don't know about?" Raoul asked, starting to turn the doorknob handle.

"So," she said, screaming even louder, "you're going into my husband's office. Where he and your wife may be discussing some matters!"

"Why are you shouting?" Raoul asked as he opened the door. He looked around and spotted Christine. "Christine!" he said, "You're still in your costume? Why haven't you changed?"

"I was...just going to." she said., her face paler than usual.

"Christine, is there something wrong?" Raoul asked.

"No, there's..." Christine began, but at that moment, she looked into Raoul's eyes and knew she couldn't lie to him anymore. "Yes, Raoul. Something is terribly wrong."

"What is it? Is Marc alright?" Raoul asked.

"Yes, Marc is fine!" Christine said, "But...Raoul, I think you had better sit down."

Christine took Raoul over to where the two arm chairs sat in to office and sat him in the same one she had collapsed in earlier that day.

"Raoul, this morning, M. Firmin received a note." Christine began.

"From whom?" Raoul asked.

"Well, it was from-"

But at that moment, the door opened and in stepped-

"Marc!" Christine exclaimed, "Where have you been?"

"Mother, Father, I must speak with you privately!" he said.

"Marc, this is a bad time, your mother was just about to tell me something." Raoul replied.

"Tust me, it can wait!" Christine said, standing up. She and Raoul followed their son out into the hall.

"What was all that about?" Mme. Firmin asked.

"I don't know," M. Firmin said, "But I spoke with your father."

"You did? You told him about the...the phantom?" Mme. Firmin asked.

"No! Of course not!" M. Firmin answered, "He'd think I was mad! Remember, they always told us that the phantom was a myth. So I asked them about the managers that were said to have delt with him. He said 'They didn't give him as they asked for and lost almost everything. If they had only given into his simple demands, they might have been in business today.'"

"I can't believe our whole lives, we didn't know it was them. Today...well, it just seems oh so obvious!" Mme. Firmin replied.

"Yes," M. Firmin said, "Well, he told me about how much the phantom would ask for. So, that's how much he'll get. Close down box 5 and contact all we sold tickets, too. They'll have to be rescheduled in different seats for another night, I'm afraid."

"That sounds fair." Mme. Firmin said, "Perhaps, we'll never have to deal with him now. Where do we leave the money?"

"Mme. Viscount de Chagny said to leave it right here on my desk and he'll come to claim it before we return in the morning."

Mme. Firmin nodded. She stood watch over her husband as he worked. "I just hope nothing else goes wrong." she said, almost in a whisper.

"So do I, my dear, so do I." M. Firmin answered.

"Tell us, Marc, what is so important that you have to tell us right away?" Raoul asked.

:Mother, Father," he said, "I've met someone."

"Who?" his mother asked, still a bit pale.

"Well, she is a very beautiful girl! Her name is Chrissy." Marc replied.

"Chrissy?" Christine asked, "Chrissy who?"

"Uh...she doesn't have a last name." Marc said.

"No last name?" Raoul replied, "Well, is she an orphan or a homeless girl?"

"No!" Marc exclaimed, "She lives with her father. Mother, Father, you must meet her!"

"Is she here now?" Christine asked.

"Well..."Marc began. He couldn't exactly tell his parents that she was the Phantess of the Opera. "No, she went home."

"When can we meet her?" Raoul asked.

Marc hadn't thought about this. Chrissy would never come to meet his parents if she hadn't agreed to it first. But that shouldn't be too hard.

"Tomorrow." he said, "After the show."

"Right here?" Raoul asked.

"No," Marc said again, "In your dressing room, Mother."

"Alright," Christine said.

Marc was extremely happy. Christine changed in her dressing room and then the family left for home, Raoul still wondering what Christine had to tell him.

Back in the laybrinth, Chrissy had just arrived back. Her father was awaiting her, but he wasn't working at his piano.

"Enjoy the opera?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Funny," Erik said, "because I went to box 7 to watch the opera with you and you weren't there!"

"Well, I found it boring half way through and left before it was over." Chrissy replied.

"Chrissy, I was there before the curtain opened. You never put one foot into that box!"

Chrissy was silent. She hadn't thought of a cover up story.

"What were you doing?" Erik asked.

"I was..." she said, "I was...I wasn't doing anything!"

Erik was suddenly looking furious. "Go to your room. Don't come out until you are ready to tell me the truth."

Chrissy knew better than to argue. She went into her bedroom and shut the door. She had to think of a lie quickly if she ever wanted to see Marc again. 


	6. The Picture Box

Crap! Sorry about the confusing for those of you who tuned in earlier! That's what I get for posting stories at the midnight hour! Oh well, I hope the chapter wasn't too confusifying! Well, here's the actual new chapter. Oh and thanx for the great reviews.

(One breif note for watrfairie, there have been many disagreements about whether Erik's face had been burned or had it been a birth defect. They are actually both therioes. I'm not sure where you heard that, but I've read the book and saw ALW production and that's what they said! I just wanted you to know where I got the actual idea for that! (You know point out it wasn't mine:)) Anyway, let's go on with the show!)

The next morning, however, Chrissy still hadn't thought of anything to tell her father. He'd be furious if she knew he was meeting someone, especially a boy.

"What can I tell him?" she asked herself as she paced the bedroom, wearing her cotton night dress and bare feet. "What will he believe?"

Story after story raced across her mind, each one as feeble as the last. Nothing seemed like it would work.

"Damnit!" she cried, slamming her hand on the wall. She turned to continue pacing when suddenly, a thought crossed her mind.

Chrissy turned back to the wall she had just slammed. She tapped it with her hand.

"That's strange," she said, "This wall sounds hollow."

Chrissy moved her hand about two feet along the wall and tapped on it. It made a different sound, a solid sound. She moved back and tapped again.

"This is hollow!" she said, "But why?"

Chrissy placed both her hands against the wall. She pushed it a bit. A section of the wall moved a little. Curiousity flowing over her, she applied more pressure to it, until finally a small rectangler section of the wall broke free of it's paint and left a small cubby hole in the wall.

Chrissy set the wood down and looked inside. There was a small, dusty box with a little lock on it. The lock looked weak.

"I could break that easily." she whispered. Chrissy dusted off the box and set it on her bed. Then, she went over to her desk and picked up a bobby pin. Quickly, she climbed up next to the new treasure.

Chrissy took the bobby pin and worked it inside the lock. A moment later, she heard a click. Carefully she removed the old lock and lifted the lid.

Inside the box was a bunch of photographs. Chrissy hoped that these would be of her mother, but as she lifted them and turned them over to look at them, she was surprised at whom she saw.

"That looks like Marc's mother," Chrissy said, looking at all the photographs. "That is Marc's mother! Younger, but it's definately her!"

She examined the photos for quite some time, trying to see if maybe she was mistaken.

"These were definately taken before I was born." Chrissy said, "But why? Why does Daddy have a box of old photographs of the Viscount's wife? Why doesn't he have any of my mother? And most importantly, why did he keep these hidden. He must have forgotten about them."

Chrissy looked at the clock above her bed. 9:00, it said. Her father was most certainly to be up. She put the photographs back in the cubby hole and fitted the wall back into place. You couldn't even tell the hole was there unless you knew about it. She dressed and left her room.

"Chrissy," he said, standing up from his piano bench as she shut her door. "Ready to tell me the truth?"

Oops! Chrissy thought, Think fast!

"Well," she said, "I...I heard the managers talking about something back stage."

Erik was silent for a minute, "Go on," he finally said.

"I heard them talking about the note you left them." she said, "They were debating whether or not you should be payed or whether we should get our box."

"And what did they agree on?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," she replied, "The opera was over before I could find out and I didn't want them to see me."

Erik thought for a second, "Was that so hard to tell me?"

"I didn't want to get your hopes up." she said.

"Well, while you were debating about whether you wanted to get my hopes up, I went to the managers' office last night and collected my money."

"Oh!" Chrissy replied, "Good! That's...that's great!"

"Thank you," he replied, "Why don't you fix us some breakfast?"

"Yes, sir, I will." she said, heading over to the stove.

"I've got to show Marc those photographs!" she whispered to herself, "Maybe he'll know what to do about them."

Floors above them, Marc and his mother were arriving back at the opera house. Christine still looked extremely nervous. Marc was excited about seeing Chrissy later. They had agreed to meet that afternoon on the roof where they were sure not to be interupted. Christine looked over at her son.

"You look excited about something," she said, still nervous, "Could it be this mystery girl you've been seeing?"

"Perhaps," he said.

"Marc, you seem to feel very strongly for this girl." she replied.

"I do, Mother," he answered, "I've never felt this way about anyone."

"I just don't want you to rush anything," she said, "don't make a mistake with this girl,...I know what it's like to make a mistake marrying someone."

Marc looked at Christine in surprise. "What?" he asked, shocked, "You mean, you don't love Father?"

"Of course I love your Father!" she said, "But...you see, before your father and I were married, there was another man I loved. He...he loved me very much. He wanted me to stay with him for all eternity and be his wife. But, I chose your father instead,...Sometimes, however, I feel I made I the wrong choice. I always wonder what might have been."

Christine had a small tear fall down her face. She sniffed and turned as she tried to hide it from her son. He pretended he hadn't noticed so as to please her.

"Mother," he said, "I know that there is no other woman I would rather spend the rest of my life with. I love her, I love her more than anything."

They had reached the managers' office. Christine smiled and gave her son a one-armed hug. "Good, I'm glad," she replied, "and I can't wait to meet her tonight."

They stepped into the office where Mme. Firmin held another note in her hands. She looked a bit nervous. She jumped as Christine and Marc walked in.

"We left him his salary and a note saying we'd leave box 5 open for him. I thought we wouldn't have to deal with him anymore! But I found this on my desk. It says to To: Mme Viscount de Chagny From:O.G."

"Oh, no!" Christine cried, looking very pale and sick.

"Whose 'O.G.', Mother?" asked Marc.

"Never you mind." she said, taking the note from Mme. Firmin with one icy, white, shaking hand. "I think it might be best if you left."

Marc looked bewildered, but slowly nodded and headed out of the door. As soon as she heard the click of it being shut, she ripped open the letter.

My Dearest Christine,  
It has been so long since my cold, dark eyes have lain themselves open your soft, beautiful face. Not a day has gone by when I haven't thought about you. I've always wondered whether the choice you made Twenty-two years ago has brought you the happiness you so greatly deserved. But, I must find out for myself. I shall be meeting you in your dressing room after your performance tonight. Come alone. Do not bring your son and do not bring your...husband.

Your obidient servant,  
The Opera Ghost

"What does it say, Madame?" Mme. Firmin asked.

Christine was silent for a while. She refolded the letter and placed it back inside the envelope before she finally spoke.

"He wants me to meet with him tonight in my dressing room...after tonight's performance." she answered, almost in a whisper.

"You're not going, though, are you?" Mme Firmin asked.

"What choice do I have?" she asked, "I have to go back to my dressing room to change before I leave. And, even if I didn't, I would. I don't want to make him angry."

"He can't force you to meet with him, though!" Mme. Firmin cried.

"Yes he can, Madame!" she replied, "You don't know what he's capable of."

Marc left the office and headed down the corridor. He was a bit curious as to the note his mother found. He knew it had to be from Chrissy's father. It didn't take an expert to realize that O.G. had to be the Phantom. Where else would Chrissy get the idea for O.A.? What he couldn't understand was why his mother was receiving letters from him.

"What could be so important that he has to speak to her?" Marc asked.

"Who has to speak to whom?" a voice said behind him.

Marc jumped and whipped around. His eyes came to rest on Annie. He took a deep breath of relief.

"Annie, you scared me!" he exclaimed.

"Good," she said, "Then today wasn't wasted on my part!"

She gave him a cold look and began to walk away, obviously not very interested in what Marc was thinking about.

"Don't tell me you're upset about last night." Marc asked chasing after her.

"Wouldn't you be if some mysterious girl got insulted by the littlest thing you said?" she replied.

"Annie!" Marc said, "She didn't know you! And, more importantly, you didn't know her. I'd be insulted two if you called me a high strung dangerous daughter of a mad man! Not that I'm saying her father is a mad man, it's just-"

"I get it!" she interrupted. "She just, I don't know, rubs me the wrong way!"

"That's because she's different!" Marc replied, "I know you, Annie. You hate anything out of the ordinary."

Annie turned to Marc. She looked at him with her green eyes, but realized he was right and didn't retaliate. Instead she changed the subject. "So, what were you talking about?"

"Nothing," he replied, thinking back to the note, "Nothing you can help me with, anyway."

He left Annie alone in the corrider as he went off to think things over.

A few hours later, Marc was still lost in his thoughts about Chrissy and his mother's note. He didn't even notice who was walking in front of him.

"Marc?" Raoul asked, "Are you all right?"

"Father!" he cried, coming back to Earth, "Yes, why do you ask?"

"You seemed preoccupied," he replied, "is there something on your mind?"

"Nothing of huge importance, Father," Marc answered.

"I see," he said, "Have you seen your mother?"

"Yes," replied Marc, "She was in the manager's office taking a note someone left her."

"Good," Raoul said, "I need to talk to her."

Raoul continued walking down the hall. Marc continued thinking about the note his mother had received. He forgot to tell his father whom it was from, but it didn't seem like much of an importance. He continued walking down the corridor, anticipating the arrival of the afternnon.

Christine read and reread her letter over and over. She could hardly believe it was real. What if he still wanted her to be his bride? What if he had a new plan to kill Raoul? What if he would kill Marc for being Raoul's son and not his? And, most importantly, how was she going to tell her husband?

"Perhaps you should alert the police of him!" Mme Firmin said, "Maybe they could protect you."

"No matter what precautions we take, Madame," Christine said, "He'll always be one step ahead. He always was."

There was a knock on the door. The two women jumped.

"Who is it?" Mme. Firmin asked timidly.

"It's the Viscount, I'm looking for Christine, is she in there?"

"Quick, distroy the letter!" Christine whispered to Mme. Firmin, thrusting the letter at her. Mme Firmin, with shaking hands, tossed it into the fire.

"Come in, Raoul, I'm here," Christine cried as Mme. Firmin whipped around, standing in front of the fire place as the note curled into ashes.

Raoul stepped into the room, looking suspicious. He looked from Christine to Mme. Firmin and back again.

"Marc told me you received a letter," he said calmly.

"Did he say from whom?' she asked, fear and panic shinning in her eyes.

"No," he said, "he didn't mention it. Whom was it from?"

"It was," she said, trying to find a cover "it was...no one!"

"It had to have been someone!" Raoul said, "Now who was it."

"It was...a mistake." she said, hoping that had convinced him.

"A mistake." he repeated. "Could this mistake have anything to do with what you were about to tell me last evening?"

Christine gasped. She placed a chilly hand over her mouth. She had forgotten about that. Marc telling them about his new love had whipped it completely from her mind.

"Christine, please tell me. What is wrong?" he asked.

Christine lowered her hand. She sighed and said, "Alright. The notes to M. Firmin and myself, they were from-"

"Is something burning?" Raoul asked, smelling the air.

Christine and Mme. Firmin sniffed the air. Sure enough, the smell of burning cloth hung in the air. Christine turned around and gasped.

"Mme. Firmin! Your dress!" she cried. Smoke was rising up from behind Mme. Firmin, still standing just before the fireplace.

Mme. Firmin turned around. Small flames were burning a large hole on the back of Mme. Firmin's baige dress.

"Oh, my goodness!" she cried as Christine ran over. She grabbed a book off of M. Firmin's desk and began trying to put the flames out. Raoul grabbed the water pitcher on a nearby table and threw it onto it, ending the catastrophic incident.

"Mme. Firmin," Raoul asked, "are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine!" she said, cluthcing her heart with relief. "I...I completely forgot where I was standing."

"I think we'd better find your husband." Christine said, "He can take you home so you can change."

"Yes, that sounds like the best idea." Mme. Firmin said.

The three left the room, completely forgetting about what Christine was about to say.

Later that day, mid-afternoon. Marc sat on the sunny roof top waiting for Chrissy. He was rather excited about seeing her. The only light he had ever seen her in was candle or moon light. He was anxious to see her in the sun's rays.

"Marc?" somone whispered from the shadows. Marc whipped around

"Chrissy?" he called soflty, "is that you?"

Chrissy stepped slowly out of the shadows. She was shielding her eyes from the sun light. Marc hadn't thought about how difficult this might be for her, concidering that she spent most of her life underground with candles as her sorce of light. He rushed over to her.

"Have you ever been in the sun before?" he asked.

"Not outside," she said, "I've only seen it through the small window in the laybrinth."

"Would you rather go someplace inside. Some place darker?"

"No!" she urged. "I've never been outside this time of day before. Please, let me stay!"

Marc leaned into her and kissed. Chrissy started to enjoy herself. She suddenly felt like everyone else in the world, kissing the man she loved in the bright light of the sun underneath a brilliant blue sky.

They let go a moment later. Marc pushed her hair away from her face. He felt the edge of her mask.

"Why do you still wear that mask?' he asked, looking into her deep brown eyes.

"Because it's the only way I can look without frightening anyone, even though you're the only person whose seen me, other than that Aniette girl." she replied.

"I hate to say it, but Annie doesn't like you very much." Marc replied, "She doesn't like anybody out of the ordinary, though, don't take it personally. And besides, you could never frighten me."

He went to remove her mask from her face. Chrissy grabbed his hand to stop him.

"No," she said, "I'm just not ready to be without it all the time."

"I understand," he said, taking hold of her hand and kissing it, "When you are ready, don't be afraid to, though."

Chrissy hugged him. "My whole life, I never thought I'd be so lucky as to find someone like you." she said, "This must have been how my father felt when he met my mother."

"I bet your mother was beautiful like you," Marc said, feeling her black curls upon his face.

Chrissy let go of him. She looked up into his handsome face. "I've never seen a picture of my mother. Remember, she died just after I was born, I never saw her face and my father has no photographs of her."

"Oh," Marc answered, "I'm sorry to hear that. She missed out on a wonderful girl."

They stood there for a while, just looking into each other eyes. The noise of people and carriages below in the busy streets of New York seem to vanish away as the two unseen lovers were in each other's arms.

"Marc, I can't stay long," Chrissy finally said, "My father would be furious if he knew I was here, and with a boy. But, I must speak to you about something."

"Well, I have a few things to speak to you about two." he said, "What do you have to say?"

Chrissy walked back over to the shadowy area of the roof and extracted the old box she had found earlier that morning. She opened the lid as she began to speak.

"I was pacing my room this morning when I found these hidden in my wall." She handed a few of the photographs to Marc and he looked them over.

"This is my mother!" Marc said, "Why were these in your room?"

"I have no idea!" Chrissy answered, "They were very dusty and they were there before I was born. See the date on this one."

"1881," Marc said, "My goodness! These were taken before I was even born!"

"What confuses me is why my father has pictures of your mother but has none of mine!" Chrissy exclaimed, "My father did say that she was a student of his, but something tells me there's more to it than that."

"She was a student of his?" Marc asked, "That's why he left her a letter this morning."

"He left her a letter this morning?"

"Yes," he said, "Something must have happened between them. If not, wouldn't they have met up again already. They must have had an argument of some sort."

"That would explain it," Chrissy replied.

"Well, we can ask my mother tonight when you meet my parents." Marc said.

"Meet your what?" Chrissy asked, panic showing its way into her voice.

"Oh, that's right," Marc said, "I...I told my parents a little about you. Nothing about you being the Phantess or anything, but...well, I said that they could meet you tonight in my mother's dressing room after the show. I...I hope that's ok."

Chrissy bit her lip. Chrissy had never known so many people in her life before now and now she was expected to meet more? All of this was very sudden and over-whelming. Chrissy was about to say no as she looked into Marc's hopeful blue eyes

"Please," he said, "Do this for my parents."

"No," she said, Marc looked shocked, "I'll do it for you."

Chrissy went over and kissed Marc on the cheek, feeling his warm breath fall against her ear. He moved over to her and kissed her against her lips again.

Little did either one know that another creature stood in the shadows as he watched the two young adults kiss in the afternoon sunlight. Neither one noticed, for nothing in the world seemed to exsist as long as they were together. 


	7. Old Friends and New Thoughts

  
Christine walked off the stage after curtain call. She slowly made her way to her dressing room. Never had she been more scared in her entire life. All she could think about was what if he forced her to go with him.

Christine slowly turned the door knob to her dressing room. She stood still at that moment before opening the door. Everything in her mind was screaming for her not to go in. Everything in her body wanted to run from the opera house and never look back. It took every inch of strength within her body to push to door opened and walk inside.

She closed the door with a soft click. She leaned against it. The room looked as silent and placid as when she had left it. Everything in it's proper place. Not one thing looked disturbed or tampered with.

"Come on, Chrissy!" Marc urged, dragging Chrissy through the shadows of the corridors. No one would notice them. Chrissy some how knew how to walk more silent than a ghost and faster than the wind. And yet for some reason, tonight she was a glacier.

"Marc, please!" She whispered, "Let's think about this for a moment. Maybe it's not a good night to meet your parents! Maybe they're both preoccupied with something more important!"

"Chrissy," Marc said, "You promised!"

Chrissy paused. She took a deep breath and looked in Marc's deep blue eyes. She couldn't say no to those eyes.

"You're right, I did promise," she said, "Let's go."

Marc took her hand and lead her through the corridors until they were just a few doors down from the dressing room.

Back inside the dressing room, Christine awaited with batted breath. She was so scared as she changed out of her costume. It had been almost ten minutes since she arrived.

"Hello, Christine," a voice said behind her.

Christine jumped up. She wiped around and there before her very eyes stood the one man who had haunted her dreams for decades.

The Phantom of the Opera.

Christine gulped as she looked upon him. He looked the same. His mask was different and there were a few gray hairs among his black ones. Other than that, nothing had changed.

"Hello...Erik," she was able to squeak out.

Erik stepped out from among the shadows. He looked upon Christine's face. He looked at her with a mixture of adoration and loathing.

"Are you ready?" Marc asked as the walked over to the door.

Chrissy seemed to lose the feeling in her throat. She couldn't make a sound. She could only nod.

Marc smiled comfortingly at her. "It'll all work out, I promise."

Chrissy tried to return the smile, but was barely able to twitch her cheeks. Marc turned around. He raised his fist ready to knock, but held it suspended in midair. A moment later he lowered it. He leaned close and rested his ear to the wood.

"What is it?" Chrissy asked.

"I hear my mother talking to someone." Marc said. "It's a man's voice. But...it isn't my father. Here, listen."

Chrissy leaned forward and listened for herself. She heard Marc's mother speak.

"You look the same as you did 22 years ago." Christine said.

"You mean when you left me for...him?" the man said.

"Oh my god!" Chrissy whispered, clasping her hand to her mouth.

"What's wrong?" Marc asked.

"That's my father!" Chrissy said. "Your mother is speaking to the Phantom of the Opera himself!"

"Why doesn't my father know about this?" Marc said.

"Shhh!" Chrissy said, for the voices were talking again.

"I see you have new mask." Christine said.

"I had to. I left the old one in Paris. I believe Meg has it now? How is Meg?" Erik asked.

"Meg?" Christine said. "Oh, I haven't seen Meg in years. I haven't been to Paris in a long time."

"Neither have I," Erik said.

"I know," Christine said. "You've been following me for 22 years, haven't you!"

"Oh don't flatter yourself, you're not that important!" Erik said, "For your information, I moved here after you left with that pathetic excuse for a human being!"

"Raoul is a good man!" Christine said. "I don't know why you can't see that about him! I don't know why you just can't be happy for me!"

"Why should I be happy for you?" Erik cried back. "I should have been the one you spent your life with! Not him! Besides, I let him live, didn't I? I let you both go! I shouldn't have! I should have killed him. He doesn't deserve you!"

"You don't know anything about him! He is a good husband and a good father!"

"Yes!" Erik yelled, "He is a father! A father to a son that should be mine!"

Marc stepped away from the door. Chrissy moved back with him. Marc looked dumbstruck as he leaned against the wall.

"I can't believe this." he said. "I just can't believe it. My mother told me that there was another man in her life whom she loved before she chose my father. I can't believe it was him"

"Come on," Chrissy urged, pulling on his arm. "We're not safe here. I know a place where we can talk in private."

Marc allowed Chrissy to pull him through the corridors of the opera house.

Meanwhile, back in the dressing room, Christine and Erik's conversation continued. Both had been silent after Erik's last words. Finally, Christine spoke.

"I heard you have daughter." Christine said, "Obviously I couldn't have been that important to you if you found someone else and had a child with her."

"You are so narrow-minded, Christine!" Erik replied, anger arising in his voice, which was beginning to frighten Christine. "Did I teach you nothing? Have all those times I spent teaching and perfecting your voice taught you only to sing? I would have expected better from you!"

"What do you mean?" Christine asked, "How do you mean I'm narrow-minded?"

"I thought all that time we spent together would teach you to 'look beyond the mask' so to speak." Erik said, "But considering the way we parted, I suppose not!"

"Are you going to punish me with that forever!" Christine cried.

"Why does it bother you?" asked Erik, "Does the guilt of leaving me behind for 22 years eat away at you?"

Christine moaned in frustration. She sat down in her chair, turned away from Erik. Both stayed silent for a while.

"No," Erik finally said.

"No what?" Christine asked.

"No, I did not find someone else and had a child with her." Erik said, "There has been no other woman in my life except you and my daughter."

Christine turned back around, still seated. "Then how is it possible you have a daughter?"

Erik turned away from Christine. She could still see his expressions in the mirror he was facing. He wouldn't speak for a few minutes. Christine began to think maybe he was waiting for her to change to subject. Finally he spoke.

"About six years after we parted, 16 years ago, approimately, I had been living comfortably here under the opera house for a few years. One night, a rare occasion occured where I couldn't write any music. I went for a walk around the underground passage ways. As you may have heard, there is a river that flows beneath this house as well as the one in Paris. I heard a few people whispering. I noticed two figures running among the shadows, a man and a woman. They were carrying a basket. They set the basket afloat in the river and rushed out from the underground. I retrived the basket, opened it and found...her. This poor, innocent little girl with a face like mine." He turned back around to face Christine, "Obiviously, you see, I couldn't abandon her. I had to take care of her. She didn't deserve to be left like that. She doesn't deserve to hid behind a mask and live in a world of darkness."

Christine stood up. "You don't deserve that either, Erik."

She walked over to him and held him in her arms for a minute. He wrapped his arms around her in return.

"For 22 years I wondered what it would be like to hold you in my arms again." he said.

"How does it feel?" she asked.

"It feels more wonderful than I had ever expected." he said.

They stayed like that for a moment. Erik pulled back from her for a moment so as to see her face. Before she knew what was happening, Erik leaned into her and kissed her.

For a moment, Christine forgot where she was and surrendered to his lips. At that split second, she would have done anything he asked her too. But then, her mind regained conciousness and she pushed him away.

"No! Erik no!" She cried, moving back from his grasp. "You know as well as I do that we can't do this!"

"And you know as well as I do that you felt something." he said, "You do have feelings for me! Admit it!"

"No!" she yelled, turning away from him.

"Christine!" Erik cried, taking her arm, "Come away with me! Leave Raoul for me! You'll be more happy with me than you ever had been with him!"

"You're asking me to leave my family and give up my career!" Christine replied.

"Christine, it's not too late!" he said, turning her around and holding her before him. "We can still have something together!"

"No, we can't!" she cried, breaking free once again. She was silent for a moment as she collected herself. "Erik we can't. Yes, maybe it isn't too late for us to be together. And yes, we did have something together 22 years ago. But, that's in the past now and...we can't go back. We can't change the past. We can't change the way we feel about each other and neither of us can change the decisions I made." She walked over to him. This time, Erik kept his arms at his side. "Please try to understand. I do love you, but...I guess I love Raoul just a little more."

Erik nodded. "I understand. I'll leave you and your family alone."

Christine looked a bit surprised when he said this. "My goodness. Fatherhood has certainly calmed your temper." Christine leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "This probably won't make you feel any better, but...if I had chosen you and Raoul came to me like this and asked me the same things...I probably wouldn't have gone with him either."

She looked at him for one for moment before turning around and shutting the door behind her. She stood in the dimly lit corridor for one for minute before going to look for her husband.   
Floors below them, Chrissy was leading Marc through the abandon corridors of the opera house's basement. It was dark and damp and Marc didn't seem to have to slightest clue as to what was around him.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Shhhh!" Chrissy urged, "The floor is thin, people will hear us if we talk."

Chrissy and Marc ran through the dark until they reached a wall.

"Well, this is great!" Marc said, "Obviously, we've reached a dead end."

"Can't you stop yourself from talking for just two minutes while I find the door?" Chrissy whispered.

"What door?"

Chrissy didn't answer that time. She was feeling along the wall for something. Marc was completely bewildered. Finally, she fitted her finger tips inside of a small crack and was able to force the thin piece of wood away from the wall. A small bit of light shown in from the other side of the door. It was a candle, lighting the way down some steep steps. Chrissy picked up the candle and lit another one that lay on a ledge next to it. She grabbed Marc's arm and pulled him onto the steps. She shut the door behind them.

"Chrissy," Marc whispered, "Where are we?"

"You don't have to whisper now," Chrissy said, aloud, "My father is no where in the labyrinth and no one can hear us through these walls. They're made of stone after all."

She started leading Marc slowly down the steps. He stared around in awe.

"How in world did your father build this?" Marc asked.

"Actually, all Opera houses created in the 16th century had hidden rooms and levels such as this to practice things such as witchcraft or to hid the dead bodies of those they tortured and mutilated. In the 18th century, however, they built these levels to protect the American soldiers during the revolutionary war."

"Wow," Marc said, "Where did you learn that?"

"You have plenty of time to read when you are stuck underground all the time." Chrissy said, "The old manager use to bring me a book every few months. I read that in a book about unknown and unproven mysteries of the world."

Marc laughed when he heard this. They had reached the bottom of the steps. They started walking through the large catacomb-like corridors. Pretty soon they reached the river.

"So this is the river that flows out of the opera house." Marc said, looking at the wide river filled with it's swift current. "Exactly how do we get across it?"

"We take the bridge, silly!" Chrissy said, leading him across a small, but sturty bridge, "I built this many years ago so I could sneak outside late at night without my father knowing."

They made it across the river and reached a small window where the moon's light was shinning inside. Marc could see Chrissy's face a little differently now. He hated to admit how well darkness and candle light suited her beautiful pale face.

They were silent for a little while. Both seemed to be thinking about what they had just heard.

"I just can't believe that my mother was involved with your father like that." Marc said.

"I know," Chrissy said with tears in her eyes. She looked at him with a look of longing on her face.

"At least this doesn't change anything between us," Marc leaned in to kiss her.

"No, it does, Marc," Chrissy said quietly, pushing him away.

"What do you mean it does?" he asked, "There isn't any possible way that there could be anything else between them, is there? Do you think they could, well, do you think maybe they might get involved again."

"It doesn't matter, Marc," Chrissy said, "Because that's not what I mean by changing things between us."

"Why?" Marc asked, curiousity and panic in his voice.

"Marc," Chrissy said, "Since we listened to them I'm...I'm beginning to think my mother didn't die when I was born."

"What do you mean?" Marc asked.

"It makes sense doesn't it," she said, now starting to cry, "No pictures of my real mother, but lots of pictures of yours. My father getting angry with me when I asked about your mother, my name being Christine, your mother talking to my father in private without your father knowing, your mother knowing my father but not wanting to meet with him right away."

"Yes," Marc said, "What are you saying, Chrissy?"

"What I'm saying is...Marc, I think...I think your mother might have had an affair with my father." Chrissy said.

"It's possible, but what's that got to do with us," Marc asked.

"I think...I think your mother might be my mother as well." Chrissy said, "I think we're half brother and sister."

Marc let this information ring in his ears for a second. He leaned against the wall, again dumbstruck. He turned back to her a moment later.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"No, I'm not sure," Chrissy said, "But it makes sense! Think about it!"

Marc did as Chrissy started to cry even harder. He held her a moment later.

"You might be right." he said.

"It isn't fair!" Chrissy cried, wrapping her arms around his neck, "I've spent my whole life with no one but my father and now I finally find someone utterly amazing...and I might not be able to have him!"

"I know," Marc said, trying to hid the tears that were flowing down his face. "Yes, Chrissy, you might be right, but we don't know that for a fact." They pulled a bit apart from each other so as to see the other's face, "Maybe, if you brought up a conversation about your mother, then maybe you could find out for sure."

"Why me?" Chrissy asked, "Why can't you talk to your, possibly our, mother?"

"Because I can't bring up that I know who you are until she meets you and I don't think she should meet you until she either knows that were in love with each other or that you're...you're-"

"Her daughter?" Chrissy finished.

Marc nodded. Chrissy saw by the light of the moon the streaks upon his face.

"You started crying," she said, starting to wipe away the streaks. The stayed in each other's arms for a few more minutes.

"I don't want to lose you." Marc said.

"I know," she said. They were quiet for some time. "I better get you back upstairs before your parents leave without you."

Marc nodded, he held her for just one more minute before Chrissy started leading him across the bridge and through the catacombs again. 


	8. The Truth

  
Chrissy watched from the roof of the opera house as the Viscount and his family left. She stayed hidden in the shadows for them not to see her. She left hours later to and returned to home. Her father had not returned yet. She slipped into her bedroom, changed into her night dress, climbed into bed, and was just about to drift into and uneasy sleep as she heard the door open.

The next morning, the two candles that were burning on Chrissy's mantle were two burnt out stubs when she awoke. She dressed and went out into the living room where her father was working at the piano.

"Hello, Daddy," Chrissy said, walking over and kissing her father on the cheek. He turned around and held her for a moment. When he let go, Chrissy went to fix breakfast while he continued to work. Her father didn't seem to be in too bad a mood from the night before. 

When breakfast was ready, Chrissy lit a candle as she and Erik sat down to eat. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Chrissy was trying to decide how she was going to start a conversation about her mother.

"We're getting a bit low on firewood," Chrissy said.

"Well, I'll alert the managers to buy some with my salary at the end of next month." Erik replied.

"Oh, good," Chrissy said. The conversation was not going as she had planned.

"How is breakfast?" Chrissy asked.

"Delicious as always," Erik said, patting her shoulder.

"Thank you," she said, having a sudden idea. "I bet I don't cook as good as Mamma, though."

Erik looked at his daughter in surprise. "What makes you think that?" he asked.

"Oh I don't know," Chrissy said, "I've been thinking about her alot lately. Do you think about her alot?"

"I think about her everyday," Erik said. "I always see her face when I look at you."

That's what I'm afraid of, Chrissy thought.

"Was she pretty?" Chrissy asked.

"She was beautiful," Erik said, "So much like you. It's a shame she didn't know you,"

"I wish I had known her, too," Chrissy said, "What did she die of again?"

"Complications during child birth." Erik said, "After all, we couldn't get a doctor or a midwife. I had to deliver you myself."

"Oh," Chrissy said. Now she was going for the kill, "Daddy, where did meet Mamma?"

Erik started choking on his coffee. He looked up at Chrissy a second later, "Why do you ask?"

"I'm curious about her!" Chrissy said, "I want to know everything about her!"

Erik was silent for a minute more. He sipped some more of his coffee, then stood up. "You know, I have some things to take care of," he said, "Why don't you stay here and clean up and I'll...I'll be back later."

"Where are you going?" Chrissy asked, "You rarely ever leave and when you do, you go talk to M. Harrison."

"Chrissy I'll be back later," Erik said, "Never you mind where I'm going,"

"Can you answer my question first?" Chrissy asked, "Where did you meet Mamma?"

Erik still didn't answer. He grabbed his cloak and started climbing the stairs.

"Fine!" Chrissy said, "Leave! I'll just ask you again when you get back."

Erik turned around and walked back over to Chrissy.

"Why do you care so much?" he asked, "What does it matter where I met your mother? Why all of a sudden does it matter more now than ever before?"

Now it was Chrissy's turn to be silent. She thought for a minute about yet another cover-up story, but nothing came to her.

"Because," she stuttered, "because...because I know Mamma's not dead!"

Erik looked shocked. He took a deep breath. "You know about your mother?"

"Not about everything, but enough!" Chrissy said, "I know she's still alive and she's married to someone else and I have a half brother!"

"What?" Erik asked, confused.

"Yes!" she said, "I know that she had an affair with you, even though she was married to the Viscount and had a four year old son at the time! Don't deny it! I know that Christine Viscount de Chagny is my mother!"

Erik took another deep breath. He thought for a second, then looked at Chrissy. "Come and sit over here," he said, calmly.

Chrissy didn't argue. She went over to the sofa and sat next to her father, eager to hear the truth, and a bit frightened.

"Chrissy, what I am about to tell you is going to shock you and greatly upset you." he said.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Chrissy asked.

"No," he said, "Christine Daae and I knew each other long before you or her son was even born. She was a student of mine. My mother, when I was born, wanted nothing to do with me because of the way I looked."

"What did she do with you?" she asked.

"That's not important," he said, "But, when I meet Christine, I had been alone for quite sometime. She was given to me as a student and...I fell in love with her."

"So she is my mother," Chrissy said.

"Just listen," he said, quiet but firmly, which Chrissy knew ment that she should stay silent, "I fell in love with her so much, I become possesive over her, which I think scared her. It was then that she came in contact with an old childhood friend, the Viscount. I...I gave her a choice as to whether she could spend the rest of her days with me, or go with him. She chose him in the end and...I let them go. That was decades ago back in Paris, France. I haven't spoken to Christine until now. I spoke with her for the first time last night as a matter of fact."

"Oh," Chrissy said, pretending as if she didn't know the last bit of information. The rest, however was new to her. "So, a few years after you separated, she had M - her son?"

"Yes, I suppose," Erik said.

"But I still don't understand something," Chrissy said, "I found a collection of photographs of the Viscountess in my room - "

"You did?" Erik interrupted.

"Yes," replied Chrissy, "Why do you have pictures of her but none of my mother?"

Erik took another deep breath. "I knew I was going to have to tell you this someday." he said, "I just didn't think it would be so soon."

Erik stood up and walked over to the piano, his back to Chrissy. He leaned against the black surface. "Sixteen years ago, six years after Christine had left with the Viscount, I had been living alone here in this place."

Chrissy stayed silent. Her ears hungered for the truth 

"One night, wondering among the catacombs, I heard...voices."

"Voices?" Chrissy whispered.

"Yes," Erik replied, "They belonged to a man and a woman. They were carrying a basket with them. They were saying how they couldn't live their lives with what lay inside it and...they set it a float in the river. They said that someone would find it, but I knew perfectly well that a basket of that size would never get out of the opera house. It seemed hard to believe that neither of them knew that. I'm sure they just wanted to make a clean job of it. They left the basket in the river. Once they were gone, I went over to it and took it from the waters. I opened it and inside I found...I found...a little baby girl with a skin condition like mine. She was you."

Silence rung through the air after Erik spoke his last word. He turned back around to see Chrissy covering her mouth with her hand. She looked away from Erik. Almost ten minutes later, she lowered it.

"I see," she said, tears forming in her eyes, "So that woman...that woman was my mother. Then that man, that man must have been my..."

She looked back at Erik. The tears were on the verge of breaking loose.

"Now you know who both your mother and your father are," he said.

Chrissy nodded. She turned away from Erik. He went to go and comfort her.

"Chrissy, I'm so sor-"

"No!" she screamed, standing up.

"Chrissy -" Erik said.

"No, just stay away from me!" she cried, running up the stairs and out the door.

"Chrissy, come back here." Erik said, chasing after her. But Chrissy was too fast for Erik. By the time he had reached the door and opened it to catch up with her, she was no where to be seen.

Chrissy ran out onto the opera house roof moments later. They morning sky was covered in gray clouds and the wind was blowing morderately. She ran to the edge and looked over the side for a few moments. The streets below were quiet, which wasn't too surprising for early morning. She watched for a few moments before turning around. She walked over to the hidden shadows of the roof. She sat on the ground. She wrapped her arms around her knees as she started crying on them.

How long Chrissy sat there, she wasn't sure. She had stopped crying after a while and just sat thinking. But the more she thought, the more upset she got and soon buried her face in her knees and began sobbing again. The day past by her and soon it was dark, but she was not aware of it. She wasn't aware of anything until she felt someone's hand on her shoulder.

Chrissy stood up from the ground in a flash. The shadows were too dark to see who had touched her, but she wasn't about to stick around to find out. She started to run, but the person soon grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Get away from me!" She screamed, trying to break free.

"Chrissy, it's me!" Marc said.

Chrissy looked at her holder. She couldn't see anything. The clouds had become thicker since that morning and no stars nor moon could be seen.

"Marc?" she asked, her voice shivering from cold and anxiety.

"Of course!" he said, "Who else would it be?"

Chrissy reached up her hand and felt his face. She knew his touch all too well. She embraced him a moment later, strainning her eyes to see him better.

"Listen, Chrissy, I have been thinking about you and your father and my mother all day and...well, since I'm pretty sure I know why you've been crying, I just want you to know that, even if we are related...I will still always be here for you as...as your brother. And, I know, it will always seem weired that your brother is in love with you but...I can't help it! But if I have to have you as just my sister, then...at least I'm with you."

"Marc, I did talk to my father this morning," she said, letting go of him, "You...you don't have to worry about that anymore. We are not related."

"Oh thank you God!" Marc said, holding Chrissy again, "I was so scared I was going to lose you. I could't take it if we were related."

"But you just said that even if I'm just your sister, then at least we're together!" Chrissy replied.

"I was lying!" he said, "I was trying to be strong for you!"

Chrissy pulled back a bit to look at him, "You're wonderful!"

Marc leaned in and kissed Chrissy. She felt safe while she was kissing him, although she didn't know why.

As they pulled back, Marc took a deep breath. He opened his eyes after a moment.

"All day, I just kept thinking over and over that I would never taste your kiss again." Marc said.

"You don't have to worry about that anymore," Chrissy said, "I will always be here with you!"

Marc smiled as he kissed Chrissy again. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

Just as she did, rain began to fall on the roof and all of New York City. It grew fairly heavy in a matter of moments. Marc's and Chrissy's lips pulled apart as they felt the rain falling among them.

"Let's go inside," Marc said.

"Why?" Chrissy said, "I've never felt rain before!"

"Never?" Marc asked, amazed.

"Never," Chrissy replied.

"It's not that big of a deal, Chrissy," Marc said.

"Maybe not for you!" Chrissy replied, "Come on, a little rain never hurt anybody!"

Marc smiled. Although Chrissy couldn't see it, she could tell that he was. They kissed again. Chrissy wrapped her arms around his neck again. Marc lifted her up and swung her around as the rain swept around among them.

Erik had stayed at his piano working the whole day. It seemed like so long ago when he use to work all day with no interuptions. He sat back now and remembered when his work began having its breaks now and then. He remembered when Chrissy was a baby and needed feeding and changing every few hours, which wasn't easy at first considering she was only a month old. He remembered when she was learning how to walk. He taught her how to speak; her first word was "Dadda". It melted his heart when he heard that. It was hard even for him to believe that a man who had been so cold back in Paris before Christine left him could be soften by a child's simple word. He remembered when she would always want to play her little-girl games. As she got older, he'd give her her signing lessons and piano lessons. She could read music better than he could at her age. Of course, he had to teach himself. Her whole life, he had lied to her and told her that her mother had loved her and died at birth. He told her that he, in fact, was her father. Now she knew the truth. He must have shattered her life.

Quickly, he stood up and left. He had to find Chrissy. She might not be his biological daughter, but he was her father nevertheless.

Erik slipped through the secret passage ways and hidden tunnels of the opera house. Chrissy was no where to be found. Surely she couldn't have left the opera house.

Then it dawned on him. Chrissy must have been with...that boy.

Whoever that boy was, Erik didn't trust him. He saw the happiness on his daughter's face the day he had spied on him atop the opera house. The last he had seen Chrissy so happy, she was just a little girl who believed every person in the world lived in darkness, sucluded from others. Something inside him told him that the boy wouldn't want to stay with her. Eventually, he would get bored and leave her or...something worse would happen. He didn't even want to think about what that could be.

"I'm not sure where he is!" a voice said, "He's seemed so distant all day!"

Erik could hear footsteps on the other side of the wall. He began following them. He reconized that voice. It was Christine and he knew who she would be talking to.

"Did he say he was going anywhere?" Raoul said, "He told me he was going out for a walk."

"No, he told me nothing!" Christine replied. "Perhaps he could be seeing that girl of his. What was her name again?"

"Carrie, I think," Raoul answered, "Weren't we suppose to meet her last night?"

"Yes," Christine said, "I wonder why they never showed up. It was a good thing they didn't."

Raoul sounded suspicious, "Why is that?"

"Uhh..." Christine stuttered, "ummm...well, you see, I uh...I was, um...I was just...um, so...tired last night that I...uh, I didn't...have the strength to stay awake much longer."

"But," Raoul said, confused, "You were up most of the night at home. You said you had trouble sleeping."

"I...must have been walking in my sleep." Christine replied quickly.

There was a pause, "There's something you're not telling me."

"Whatever do you mean by that?" Christine asked, trying to hide the truth.

"You know perfectly well what I mean." Raoul said, "And what was it that you were going to tell me a few nights ago?"

"Tell you?" Christine said.

There was another pause. Erik wished he could see what was going on.

"Well," Christine said, "I...I was...I think you had better sit down."

"There's no where to sit!" Raoul said.

"Then let's go to my dressing room." Christine said.

They're footsteps began walking in the opposite direction. Erik turned quickly and chased after them. He knew the way into Christine's dressing room and he wasn't about to miss this conversation.

Christine took out her key and unlocked her dressing room. She stepped inside, led Raoul in, and lit an oil lamp. She shut the door and locked it behind her.

In a hidden tunnel, Erik made it right behind the walls of Christine's dressing room. He slipped into a closet like space to sat next to her closet. There wasn't anything here for Erik to tell what was going on, but the hearing was crystal clear.

"Ok," Christine said, "You had better sit down."

Raoul did as his wife asked. Christine sat down a moment later.

"You..." she said, "You are going to be furious when you hear this."

"I don't care, I want to know what is going on with you?" Raoul asked.

"Alright," she said, almost in a whisper, "I told you that M. Firmin and I both received letters from someone."

"Yes," Raoul said.

"Raoul, they were from the same person," she said.

"And?" Raoul asked.

"Raoul they...they...they were from...him."

Raoul sat frozen in his seat for a minute. Christine could almost hear the fear and anger boiling inside of him.

"He's here?" Raoul asked, almost in silence.

Christine nodded. Raoul stood up in rage.

"I knew it. I knew it!" Raoul yelled, "I knew it was too easy! He's been following you for 22 years, hasn't he!"

"No," Christine cried, jumping up and gently grabbing her husband's arm, "Apparently, from what he told me, he's been here for 22 years. And for 16 of those years, he's...he's been raising...his daughter."

Raoul turned in surprise, anger still flashing in his eyes. "His daughter?"

"Yes," she said, "He said 16 years ago, he saw two people below the opera house abandon a little baby girl with the same skin condition."

Raoul thought for a second. "Wait, what do you mean 'he said'?"

Christine was silent again. She avoided Raoul's eyes as he looked at her.

"You met with him?" he asked.

Christine didn't say anything. She just nodded.

"Last night, wasn't it?" he asked, "That's why you were so grateful that you didn't meet with Marc and Cassie."

"I thought it was Carrie!" Christine asked.

"That doesn't matter right now!" Raoul said, "Did he just sneak up on you or...did you know he was going to meet with you?" 

Christine hesitated. She bit her lip. "I knew," she said.

"You knew and you didn't tell me?" Raoul asked.

"I didn't want to worry you!" she said.

"Christine!" Raoul said, "What if he had had other intentions than just meeting with you? You could have been taken away again. Or worse, he could have killed."

"He's not a murderer." Christine replied.

"He tried to kill me." Raoul said.

"I know, but...I don't think he's going to bother us anymore." Christine said, "M. and Mme. Firmin have both agreed to keep his box open for him and his daughter and they are paying him his salary every month. He...he told me that he'll leave us alone."

"No," Raoul said, "I won't rest until both he and his daughter are forced out of here! I'll kill them both if I have to!"

"Raoul!" Christine cried, "He said he'd leave us alone! Besides, you've never even met his daughter. You don't know if she's dangerous like him."

"Dangerous?" Erik whispered to himself, "She thinks I'm dangerous?"

"Did you meet her?" Raoul asked.

"Well, no-"

"Then you don't know if she is or not!" Raoul cried, "They have no right to be here!"

Christine said nothing. This made Erik even more angry. He promised her he'd leave them alone. Besides, neither of them even knew Chrissy! How dare they asume that she would try to hurt them. She was gentle and kind. Chrissy would never do that to anyone!

"Raoul, maybe we should go home now," Christine said.

"But we haven't found Marc yet." Raoul answered.

"Marc's a grown man," Christine said, "He may stay out as late as he wants with Kelly, or whatever her name was."

"You're right," Raoul said, "let's go home."

Raoul and Christine left a moment later. Erik listened as their footsteps quieted until there was silence once more. He walked out of the closet-like listening space and slammed the door behind them.

The slam shook the walls of the dressing room, so much, her heard the crash of the something that was glass smash into a thousand pieces. Something must have fallen, but it didn't matter to him what it was. He walked through the hidden tunnels through the opera house once more, looking for Chrissy and trying to forget the things he had just heard.   
Chrissy slowly opened the door leading to her home. She opened it just a crack so she could peek inside. The hand that wasn't keeping a hold on the doorknob was being held by Marc's. There was no sound or site of anyone inside. She opened it fully and led Marc inside.

"This is where you live?" Marc whispered.

"Yes," Chrissy said, also in a whisper. She lead him slowly down the stairs. Both were dripping wet. Chrissy was freezing more than Marc was. For Marc had on gloves and an over coat. Chrissy was in her thin dress and bare feet. She didn't mind, though. After all, she was use to the cold.

"I'm just going to check to see if my father is asleep." Chrissy said, "Stand back. If my father comes out, rush into my bedroom."

Marc nodded. He opened the door of her bedroom just a bit, prepared incase he needed to go inside. Chrissy pushed her father's door open just a crack as she did with the front door. She stood still for a few minutes.

"That's strange," she said in a normal voice.

"What is?" Marc whispered.

"My father's not here!" Chrissy said, turning around. "His bed's empty and there are no candles in his bedroom."

"Really?" Marc asked, walking over to her.

"Yes," Chrissy said, "Stay here,"

Chrissy went into her father's bedroom. Marc walked back over to Chrissy's door incase he needed to rush in again. A moment later, Chrissy stepped back out with some neatly folded cloths.

"Here, put these on," she said, "At least you'll be dry."

Marc nodded. Chrissy went to go into her bedroom.

"Wait!" he said, "Why can't I change in there and you change out here?"

"Because if my father walks in, he'll be suspicious as to why I'm changing out here instead of in there," Chrissy replied, "Besides, it's my room!"

She kissed him on the cheek and stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

"But what if your father walks in?"

"Change fast and hide under the couch!" she said.

Marc rolled his eyes. Quickly as he could, Marc changed out of his wet cloths and into the dry ones of Chrissy's father. It felt a little strange for him to be wearing someone else's cloths, especially someone he'd never met.

Once Marc had changed, he sat down on the sofa and waited for Chrissy. She knocked a second later.

"Are you decent?" she asked.

"Yes," Marc said.

Chrissy walked out of her room in a cotton night dress that reached her ankles. Her feet were bare and her hair was still damp from the rain. Chrissy took some wood and placed it in the fire place. She took a candle and used the flame to light it. In a matter of moments, there was a warm fire before them. Chrissy made them each a cup of some hot chocolate.

"At least you'll get warmed up a little bit," Chrissy said, "I know you're not use to this kind of environment."

"Thank you," Marc said, taking his hot chocolate. "Now Chrissy, you know I've been dying to ask, why were you crying when I found you?"

Chrissy hesitated as she took a slow sip of her drink. Once she had swallowed she said. "I had been there since this morning. I...I had just finished talking to my father about...about my mother."

She set her hot chocolate down. Marc imitated her and set his next to hers.

"But if your father told you that Christine was not your mother," Marc began, "then why were you so upset?"

Chrissy again hesitated. She stared into the fire. "He told me about my real mother. He told me why he doesn't have any pictures of her."

"Why doesn't he?" Marc asked.

Chrissy started shivering again with anxiety. "He said that..." she began to cry again, "He told me that...he's not my real father."

Marc looked shocked. "What?" he said, almost in a whisper.

Chrissy nodded. "When I was born, apparently, I was born with a skin infection on my face and my real mother and my real father abandon my beneath the opera house."

"Oh my god!" Marc said.

"I know," she said, "He said he found me and...well, the rest is obvious!"

Marc moved closer to her. Chrissy was still crying.

"Chrissy, it's ok," he said.

"No it's not ok, Marc!" answered Chrissy, "It's not ok! You've lived with your parents your whole life! You don't know what it's like all of a sudden to find out that your mother and your real father didn't even want you when you were born!" She was quiet for a minute, just letting the tears fall down her face. "I can't believe my parents didn't want me!"

"No, Chrissy!" Marc said, "They were not your parents! Look, there's nothing I can say about your mother, but...that man was not your father. I don't know who your biological father is but he certainly was not. The man who's taken care of you and loved you for 16 years, that's your father!"

Chrissy looked at Marc again. She was still crying.

"Thank you, Marc, but...you don't understand." she said, "For 16 years, I thought I had someone in my life whom I belonged to. I don't have anything now."

"What do you mean you don't have anything?" Marc asked, "What do you mean you don't belong to anyone?"

"What?" Chrissy asked, "What do I have, Marc?"

Marc looked at Chrissy in shock. "Me, Chrissy!" he said, "You have me! I belong to you and you will be mine until the day I die!"

Chrissy looked at Marc. But, to her, it seemed like she was really seeing him for the first time. She buried her head in his chest and started sobbing again. He wrapped his arms around her. He rocked gently, trying to calm her.

"I love you," she managed to whisper after a few minutes, "I love you so much, Marc!"

"I know," Marc said, "I love you, too. So very much."

They stayed like that for a while longer. By the time they finally let go, Chrissy's hair was dry.

Chrissy smiled as she looked at him. He smiled back and kissed her a moment later. After a second, she broke away.

"Have you done that to every girl who smiles at you like that or holds you?" Chrissy asked, jokingly.

"Only the ones with good taste," Marc replied, "And you taste very good!"

He kissed her again. Chrissy began wrapping her arms around him again, when suddenly, she pushed him away. She looked up. "Listen," she said.

Marc did and began to hear someone's footsteps coming closer and closer to them. Chrissy took the cups of now cold chocolate and poured them into the fire, putting it out. She grabbed Marc's arm and they both dashed into her bedroom just as the door at the top of the stairs opened.

"Quick!" Chrissy cried, opening her closet. "Don't come out until I come to get you."

"I won't," he said, kissing her on the cheek and shutting the door with a soft snap.

Chrissy got onto her bed and climbed quickly under the covers. Her bedroom door began to open and she pretended to be asleep.

She could feel her father's presence standing next to her bed. He said nothing, nor tried to wake her. He stood there for a moment, as if relieved to see her lying there. He bent down and kissed her on the forehead before turning around and leaving the room.

Chrissy kept her eyes shut until long after her father's bedroom door had been shut. She sat up in her bed, climbed out, and tiptoed over to her closet.

"Sorry," she whispered as she opened it.

"It's ok," Marc whispered back, "I think I'd better go,"

He and Chrissy walked out of her bedroom. One solo candle was burning on the mantle piece of the living room now. Marc took his wet cloths out from under the sofa.

"Let me keep those," Chrissy said, "If you go home with wet cloths, your mother will be furious."

"Yes, of course, it will be a bit hard to explain why I'm wearing someone else's cloths." Marc said, "Bye, Chrissy, I love you."

"I love you, too." she said.

Marc turned to leave, but Chrissy grabbed his arm. He turned back to look at her.

"Don't go," she said.

"Chrissy, honey, I have to," he replied.

"No you don't," she said.

"Well," Marc asked with a quizzical look upon his face, "where am I going to sleep?"

"With me," she said.

Marc looked a bit surprised, but he didn't argue. Chrissy pulled him into her bedroom and shut the door behind the both of them. 


	9. Realization

  
The sun rose at it's usual time the next day, of course, the laybrinth was unaware of it. Chrissy's mantle clock, however, chimed at 6:30. A few moments later, her door opened and Chrissy poked her head out. No life shown in the room except the low burning candle on the mantle piece. She opened the door wider to allow Marc out. He was dressed now in his own cloths and was finishing buttoning his shirt as he stepped out.

"Will you be able to get outside okay?" she asked.

"I'll be fine," he said, "Probably should have left a trail of bread crumbs, but I'll be alright."

Chrissy giggled a bit as she looked up at him. She started smooth some of the wrinkles out of his shirt. He took her hands in his after a few moments.

"Listen," she said, "thank you."

"For what?" he asked.

"I just...I just couldn't be alone last night. I needed to be with someone. Someone whom I could forget my problems with for a while. I hope you don't feel like I used you. I...I really love you. I guess I was only thinking of myself last night. But I thank you just the same."

Marc brushed her arms a bit, "I understand you needed someone with you last night. But to me, every second we spent together was...I can't even find the words to describe how wonderful you are."

"I love you!" she said, wrapping her arms around her neck.

"You mentioned that," he said, laughing, "I love you, too."

He kissed her yet again. When they had let go, Marc just held her in his arms. Finally, he back up a bit. He reached his hand up to her mask to remove it, but again, Chrissy took his hand to stop him.

"No," she said, "Not yet."

Marc didn't argue. He lowered his hand.

"Chrissy, I promise, someday I'll take you away from here." he said, "Some place full of fresh air and sunshine where you can be happy. A place where no one will judge you. Not even yourself."

"You promise?" she said, barely able to speak.

"Until the day that I die," he said.

They kissed again. Marc back away as they let go. Chrissy hated for him to leave, but she knew he had to. She watched him until his footsteps had vanished completely. After he had, Chrissy went back to bed for a few more hours until she awoke to her father's piano music.

"I'm going to have to face him sooner or later." she whispered, standing up and starting to change.

She opened the door a bit and peaked her head out. Her father's back was turned to her. She stepped out and closed the door behind her. Then she walked across the room until she was right behind him. Chrissy cleared her throat to make her presence known. Erik whipped around.

The two stood there in silence just staring at each other. Chrissy was waiting for Erik to explode with anger about her disappearing and not coming back until late at night. Erik was waiting to Chrissy to go into hysterics about him not telling her the truth for the past two decades.

"I came back," she finally said. He voiced sounded strange in the laybrinth, as if it had never before heard her words among it's walls before.

"So I noticed," Erik replied. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," she replied timidly, "And you?"

"Fine," he said.

Again, quiet. Neither one wanted to be the first to bring up what they had discussed.

"Chrissy, I'm sorry," Erik finally said, standing up from the piano bench. "I didn't mean to lie to you for so long. I just didn't think you'd want to know the truth."

"You're right," she said, "I didn't. I wish I still didn't."

The too stood there, avoiding each other's eyes.

"I'm sorry, too." she said, "I shouldn't have run off like that. You had every right to tell me."

Chrissy started to cry. Erik stepped forward and brushed her shoulder, as if afraid to hug her. Chrissy moved closer to him, allowing him to hold her. Marc was right. This was her father, and no one else.

"I love you, Daddy," she said through sobs.

"I love you, too, Chrissy." he replied. "You might want to just call me Erik, now."

"No, never," she answered, "You are my father, no one else."

After Chrissy had stopped crying, she pulled out of her father's arms. Even though she knew the truth now, he still seemed the same to her. Why shouldn't he? Was she expecting someone else?

Chrissy cooked breakfast for them both and as he set to work, Chrissy told him she had left a book of her's somewhere in a laybrinth and as soon as she found it, she would return.

Marc and his parents arrived at the opera house the next morning in silence. No one asked Marc about where he had been the previous night or anything of that nature. No one said a word until the carriage door was opened.

Marc walked through the corridors of the opera house. He knew Chrissy would be on the roof anywhere from afternoon to late night, but now she was probably still sleeping. He was worried about what she and her father would be dealing with this morning. How he wished he could be with her to support her.

He walked outback beind in a few of the pastures where they allowed the opera house's horses to graze before they prepared them for the night's performances. There, he sat down on the steps.

"Hello," someone behind him said.

Marc turned around to find Annie standing there. She stood back a bit timidly, as if afraid that he would be angry that she was there.

"Oh hello, Annie," Marc replied, turning bac around.

Annie stood silent for a while, as if hoping that Marc would invite her to sit, but he never did. She decided to invite her self.

"How's your friend?" Annie asked.

"You mean Chrissy?" Marc replied.

"If that's what she's called, then yes." Annie replied.

"You know, Annie, if you would just take the time as I have to really get to know her, I think you'd-"

"No," Annie said, "No, I don't trust her. I know everything about the Phantom of the Opera! My grandfather's told me!"

"Forget it, Annie, I just can't make you understand!" Marc answered, standing up.

"Marc!" Annie called, running after him.

Marc didn't stop. He continued walking, trying to lose Annie along the way. But she wasn't about to be shaken off that eaisly.

"Marc!" she cried, grabbing his arm. "Please!"

"What?" he asked, turning around to face her.

"Please listen to me!" she said.

"Alright," he said, "You have a minute. I'm listening."

Annie cleared her throat. She wasn't exactly sure about what she wanted to say next. She took a deep breath. "You seem like you're really falling in love with Chrissy."

"I could have figured that out for myself." he said.

"I'm not finished." she exclaimed. "Look, you're right, I don't know her that well. I don't know her at all, come to think of it. But...Marc you don't want to be with a girl like that!"

"A girl like what?" he asked.

"Like...like...a dark girl who is...devoted to music and never comes out into the light. A girl who is so terrifying to the human eye, she must hide her hideousness behind a mask!"

"Chrissy is beautiful!" he said, "And she loves sunshine and other things besides darkness and music."

"But you shouldn't be with her!" Annie cried.

"And why shouldn't I?" Marc asked.

"Because you should be with me!"

And at that moment, Annie placed her hand behind Marc's head and pulled him close to her. She placed her lips against his and kissed him rather fiercely.

As they let go, Marc backed away from Annie and wiped off his lips.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"Because I want you to be with me." she said. "I love you."

"No you don't," he said, "You love my money."

"No, I love you!" she cried, "I love you more than anything!"

"Annie," he said, stepping forward, "I admire you're courage to tell me this and I appreciate you-"

"But you don't love me," she said, starting to cry.

"No," he said, "Annie, I'm sorry. I don't return your feelings. I love Chrissy."

"But I can make you happier than Chrissy ever could!" Annie cried, grabbing his arm. Marc wrenched it out of her grasp.

"No," he said, "You could do everything I asked for a thousand years, yet it wouldn't make me as happy as seeing Chrissy's face."

Marc leaned down and kissed Annie on the forehead before walking off. Annie stood there for a moment in her misery before running off through the opera house, her face streaming with tears.

Marc continued walking through the opera house when suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He felt as if he were being watched. He turned around, but no one was there. Perhaps Annie had taken up on stalking him? He turned back around suspiciously and continued to walk. And yet the feeling was still there. He doubled-back to see, but no one was there. He started walking again.

On the third time he felt it, he stopped and listened. No sound.

"Is there somebody there?" he asked loudly, trying to sound intimidating.

But instead of someone answering, or the sound of footsteps running away, he heard a slightly muffled giggling. He recognized that giggle.

"Chrissy?" he asked, "Where are you?"

A vent popped open on the ceiling and Marc saw her peeking through it. She was smiling.

"Did I scare you?" she asked.

"Not as much as now!" he said, staring up at her. "Get out of there, that's dangerous!"

"Oh, please!" she said, "I know how to travel through these passage ways, I've been doing it since I could crawl!"

"Why are you following me?" he asked.

"Come up here," she said.

"How?" Marc asked.

Chrissy reached out her arm.

"Jump," she said, "I'll pull you up as much as I can, once you reach the ceiling, grab hold and pull yourself in."

Marc did as he was told and before he knew what he was doing, Chrissy had helped him climb through the thin, but strong ceiling vent. Chrissy closed it behind him as he stood up.

"Wow!" he said, "You'd never know that there was this much room up here!"

Indeed, the passage way was so large, Marc and Chrissy could both almost stand completely.

"The opera house isn't what you'd expect it to be." Chrissy said, "Most of the size is thanks to passage ways like this."

Chrissy took his hand and lead him through the dark. Before long, they had reached a large opening and jumped through. Marc could hear the sound of the river flowing out of sight. It was pitch black except for the sunlight shinning through a small window.

"We're in the laybrinth, aren't we?" Marc asked.

"Yes," she replied, "One of the quicker passages. This room is hidden from most of it. I don't think my father even knows of this little room."

They sat down on the cold floor. Marc put his arm around her. Chrissy rested her head on his chest.

"I feel so safe when I'm with you." she said, almost in a whisper.

"Somehow I do, too." he said.

"You do?" she asked.

"I don't what it is, but...my world makes since when I'm with you." he said, "It's like I don't know how I survived without you in my life."

Through most of the day, Chrissy and Marc sat together. Chrissy wanted to know everything about the outside world. Marc was more than happy to tell her.

By the time the sun had just about set, both Chrissy and Marc had fallen asleep on the stone floor. Chrissy awoke after a while, startled. She sat up, staring around.

"What is it?" Marc asked groggily.

"Listen," she whispered.

They both stayed silent, listening for a sound. They heard the rushing of the river and-

"Footsteps," Marc said.

"I think we'd better go," Chrissy said, standing up and helping Marc to his feet.

"Yes, I guess you're right," he said. He kissed Chrissy, who wrapped her arms around his neck. As they let go, Marc reached up to remove her mask.

"Not yet," she said, pushing his hand away.

"You can't blame me for trying!" he said with a smile.

Chrissy smiled back. She opened the vent back up to let Marc out.

After Marc was safely on his way back through the regular corridors of the opera house, Chrissy rushed back home.

She opened the door and stepped inside. Her father was at his piano, working on a new piece. She tiptoed down the stairs, heading into her room. He paused to write a few more notes down.

"Who is this boy you've been seeing?" Erik asked.

Chrissy paused, her hand on the door knob. Her insides froze at her father's words. She didn't dare answer.

"You're not to see that boy again." he said, "Ever,"

Chrissy suddenly snapped back to life. She turned to her father.

"What?" she said.

"You heard me, young lady," he said. "Ever."

"How do you know about him?" she asked.

"Oh I don't know," he said, "It could be a number of reasons. A father's intuition, maybe, or it could be caused by the curiosity that is created after wondering why my daughter has been leaving this laybrinth every single day during daylight hours."

"You followed me?" she asked. "How long has this been going on."

"Ever since you lied to me, twice, about where you were three nights ago!" Erik cried.

"You had no right to invade my privacy like that!" Chrissy yelled.

"And you had no right to disobey me like that!" Erik yelled, throwing Chrissy down in frustration. Now, Chrissy was scared. Her father had never treated her abusively before.

"You don't understand the real world, Christine!" he continued, turning his back to her, "I know people like him. You think now that he's everything and you'll always be together, but life doesn't work out that way." He turned back around, "Leave him! Before he has the chance to break your heart, leave him! You are just like me, cursed with such a wretched face that no one will ever accept! Do you think he will be beside you when you die? After I am gone, do you think he will be there to protect you? No! After I am gone, you will be doomed to a life of darkness and loneliness!"

"No, you're wrong!" Chrissy cried, remainning on the floor, but not looking at her father. She took a few deep breaths for a moment, calming her voice into almost a whisper. "He loves me. He promised me he'd stay with me forever. I know he would never hurt me."

Chrissy stood up and turned to face her father, "I use to think you'd never hurt me...Erik...but now I know that I'm wrong."

And with that, Chrissy ran up the steps and out of the door. Erik made now attempt to chase after her. All he could do was watch her leave in shock. 


	10. Murder, Murder

  
After the performance that night, Marc went home with his mother and father, daydreaming about Chrissy. He ate supper and went to bed soon after. He couldn't help remembering how just twenty-four hours ago, Chrissy was safe and his arms and, strange as it seemed to him, he was safe in hers.

As he lay in his bed with his night cloths, he looked out onto the balcony and to the sky. The stars were shining brightly over the city. Late at night, when alot of the street lamps had gone out, it was eaiser to see the stars. He rolled onto his side and looked out of his open window. He heard the rustling of the leaves in the trees. The soft sound of horse hooves as a carriage road by on the cobble-stone streets. Soon, the rain started again and he could her the pitter-patter of it hitting the streets and sidewalks. There was the sound of a soft tapping from a bird. It was all very peaceful.

"Tap tap tap," the bird continued. There was silence for a bit as the rain continued, "Tap tap tap," what was the bird looking for? "Tap tap tap!" it was getting louder and more annoying. "Tap Tap Tap!" How was Marc expected to sleep with this noise! "Tap! Tap! Tap!"

Suddenly, Marc realized that it had not been the sound of a bird on wood, but that on glass. Glass close by.

Marc sat up and looked around. A dark creature stood on the balcony of his bedroom, tapping on the doors, begging to come in. But who could this be. The rain was pouring now. The creature placed its hands on the window. Marc could see the water streaking down from it's hands.He lit a candle to see who this intruder was. The light streaked across the room and rested upon the visiter. He recognized her at once. Of course, who else could it be?

Marc rushed to the balcony doors and opened them. "Chrissy!" he cried, seeing her standing in the rain with the same simple dress he had seen her in before and her bare feet. "Get in here before you catch a cold!"

Chrissy came inside, dripping wet. Marc rushed over to his closet and pulled out a pair of his pajamas and a few towels. Chrissy was crying.

"I'm sorry, Marc," she said, "I didn't know where else to go. I found out where you lived from the records in the Firmins' office." She paused for a second, along the rain and the tears to run down her face. "I've run away from home!"

"Chrissy, why?" Marc asked, handing her a towel.

"My father...no, he's not my father anymore...Erik, he found out about us."

"How?" he asked.

"He's been spying on us." Chrissy replied, drying off her hair, "For the past three days. He's seen you! He..he told me that I wasn't allowed to see you anymore. He said if I didn't leave you, you would...eventually break my heart."

"He said that?" he said.

"Yes," Chrissy replied, still crying, "Oh, Marc, I knew he was wrong! I know you won't hurt me! I would never hurt you. That's why I left! But...I'm so sorry, Marc, for coming here. You're my only friend. I didn't know where I could turn."

"Chrissy," Marc said, picking up a towel, "You were right to come here. It was dangerous for you to leave home like that, but...at least you'll be safe here."

"But what will your parents say?" she asked.

"We'll worry about that in the morning." Marc said, "Right now, let's get you changed into something dry and warm."

Chrissy nodded, starting to calm down.

Marc left the room for a few moments while she dried off and changed. He returned with some hot soup and wine. Once she had her fill. He set her tray aside. She looked much better.

"Thank you," she said, "I hate to be a burden on you, Marc."

"You are no burden to me, my dear." he said, sitting next to her on the bed. "Listen, while you were eating, I was thinking. Tomorrow morning, before the sun comes up, you and I will return to the opera house and go down to see your father. Together. We'll talk to him, explain to him what has been happening. I'll tell him how we feel about each other and how I would never hurt you or leave you."

"Erik is a very strict and stubborn man, Marc," Chrissy replied, "What if he still won't accept us? He won't let me see you! I will not stay with him."

"If he does not accept us, no there is no way you can stay with him." March said, "Hopefully, that will be the worst chance. But, if he does not, you are welcome to stay here with my family and me."

"But what if your mother and father don't accept me either?" Chrissy asked.

"Well, then," Marc said, "I guess we'll just have to find that home in the country with bright sunshine sooner than we planned!"

"Oh, Marc," Chrissy exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. "I knew you wouldn't hurt me! I love you so much, my darling!"

"And I love you, Chrissy," he said. He kissed her again. The kiss was passionate. Marc began laying her down on the bed. The wind and rain poured in through the open window blowing the candle out and casting the room into darkness.   
The next morning, Marc had awoken early and made Chrissy a small breakfast. He brought it up to her so she could eat peacefully and quietly. Chrissy's dress had dried in the night. When she had finished eating, she dressed while Marc left a note in the dinning hall telling his parents he had gone to meet Chrissy and would meet them at the opera house later. He pulled out one of the horses from the barn and they rode through the dark streets of New York.

Chrissy felt like a princess as she rode through the streets, her arms wrapped around the man she loved. Marc, her prince, steered the horse as well as a fox hunting champion. But then, knowing of his life and background, there was no doubt that he had had riding lessons when he was younger. Chrissy breathed in the smells from all around her. The soft puffs of smoke from small shops already preparing for a day of business, other horses who were awaiting for their masters to come and give them their feed. How she wished she could be among all these things all the time in the daylight. The country must smell and look even better than the city. She wondered what it was like there. Marc and her would be so happy there. Living in a wonderful house where no one cared about her face. Perhaps they wouldn't even mind if she lived her life without her mask. A place where even she wouldn't mind to live without it.

"We're here," Marc said.

Marc jumped from the horse's bareback. He tied the stallion to the fence that kept the pastures blocked off for the opera's horses. He reached up and helped Chrissy down from the horse's back. Hand in hand, they rushed up the stairs of the opera house to, surprisingly, already find it open.

Cautiously, Marc secretly snuck Chrissy inside where she wouldn't be seen. Here in there, from the shadows, they saw a few of the ballet rats running around with nervous looks upon their faces.

"Why aren't they in their dorms?" Chrissy whispered in Marc's ear.

"I don't know," he said, "The girls usually sleep for a few more hours."

Marc stepped from the shadows when he noticed another ballet rat pacing by. Chrissy listened silently, unseen.

"Excuse me, Mlle.," Marc said, "but what is going on? Why are the other girls rushing about this morning."

"Oh, M. Viscount," the rat said, "A terrible thing has happened, sir, you see...the Firmins never went home last night with their daughter. They asumed she was staying here with the rest of us in the dorms. They arrived just half an hour ago. We told them that Mlle. Firmin did not stay with the other student ballerinas last night. We had not seen her since the morning prior. The stable men...they just told us...just a few moments ago...Mlle. Firmin is...is...Mlle. Firmin is dead."

"Dead?" Marc asked, "As in...dead?"

"As dead as a person can be!" the rat answered, "I have not see her body, but they say she hung herself. Just in the stables. She was as cold as ice. Mme. Firmin fainted from shock. I've just seen M. Firmin talking to the police. He looks as cold as ice!"

"But how on earth did this occur?" Marc asked, "Why did this happen?"

"The question is not why, my dear Viscount," the rat replied, "But who,"

"Who?" Marc said, "You believe she was murdered."

"As do the rest of the rats in the dorms." she said, "We all have an almost certain knowing of who did it!"

"Who?" Marc asked, intriqued. Chrissy moved closer to listen.

"Why the Phantom of the Opera." she said, "You've heard of the story, haven't you?"

"Not entirely," Marc said, raising his voice, as if trying to tell something to Chrissy. She could not completely udnerstand what he ment, but she leaned closer just the same.

"Well, everyone knows how the phantom was in Paris and created the horrific disaster of so many years ago. Well, he moved to America just a few years ago. Some say he kidnapped a young ballerina from another opera house in Europe and is keeping her hostage with him. They say he's up to his old tricks again, trying to distroy the opera house because he is mentally insane from his facial disfigurement."

There was a pause. Chrissy wanted to step out of the darkness and slap that terrible rat. How dare she? She knew nothing about Erik...her father. And what was this about keeping another rat from Europe hostage? Could that rat possible be a rumor about her? People really were empty headed.

"Mlle.," Marc said, "I do not believe the story of the phantom and neither does anyone in my family. I lived in Europe for twenty years, since I was born, in fact and my parents longer. In fact, in a few months, we are planning to return there." He raised his voice a bit again, "My fiancee will also be acompanying us."

Chrissy smiled when she heard this. Did he really mean fiancee?

"Believe what you will, Viscount," she said, "You, your family, and your fiancee. But people didn't just start to mysteriously die until the Phantom of the Opera became angry in Paris and people didn't start dying until he came here."

She said not another word, but continued walking. Marc moved back into the shadows. He took her hand and they continued through the house.

The reached the Firmin office. Watching, unseen, the police were questioning Mr. Kilishkoff, the orchestra conductor, who was the last to leave after the opera that night. M. Firmin, white as the ballet rat had said, was leading an also white and shaking Mme. Firmin from the office. Tears running down her face. They noticed the streaks of tears on M. Firmin's face. Marc thought best if he didn't speak with them. "They have enough to worry about," he said. Chrissy nodded, thinking along the same lines.

As they walked, Marc voiced another opinion. "Chrissy," he said, "Do you think it's possible that your father did this?"

"What makes you think that?" Chrissy asked, appalled.

"Well, this is just a theory, but perhaps he went looking for you, furious that you had run away. Aniette could have somehow found her way down there. Your father could have found her and...well, taken his anger out on her."

Chrissy said nothing. She was think things over.

"Or..." Marc said, and Chrissy, through the dim light of the shadows, saw the color drain out of his face, "Aniette might have somehow found her way into the laybrinth and your father killed her thinking...thinking she was you."

"No!" Chrissy exclaimed a bit louder than was wise, "No, I know my father. There are many theories as to why Aniette died, but...Marc, he is capable of murder but he wouldn't hurt an innocent young girl and he certainly would not hurt me! Whomever killed Aniette Firmin, my father is certainly not responsible."

Through the opera house, down through the basement, down through the hidden door, down the stone steps, across the lake, and finally to Chrissy and Erik's home.

"Are you ready?" Chrissy asked, sounding nervous.

"Yes, my dear," he replied.

Squeezing his hand, Chrissy slowly opened the door. The candle light streamed through the ajar door. Chrissy pushed it open in full.

"Still must be sleeping." she replied.

"Then we'll just wait for him to wake up," he said.

"No!" she cried, "No! I will not wait that long. I will wake him up now!"

Chrissy and Marc slowly made their way down the stone steps. Marc sat down on the couch while she knocked on his door. Silence. She knocked again. Silence still. Slowly, she pushed open the door.

"He's not here!" she exclaimed.

"He's not?" Marc asked.

"No!" she said, "No candles, no embers, no fire, not even a wrinkle in the bed cloths!"

She shut the door, stunned. Her attention absentmindly went over to the piano.

"Oh my goodness!" she said, running over. She bent down and began looking underneath it.

"What's wrong?" Marc asked.

"All his work!" she said, "His operas, his music, my music lessons, it's all gone!"

"Could he have burned it?" Marc asked, "Perhaps he was bored with it."

"No!" Chrissy exclaimed, standing up, panic on her face. "Some of those operas and music has been here since before I was born. He would never destroy his work, never!"

Chrissy placed a hand on her head, strainning her mind for a solution. What could possibly be happening? Then, on the table behind the sofa, Chrissy's eyes feel upon an envelope. A note with her father's wax seal. Curious, Chrissy picked it up. Written in her father's writing spelled out Chrissy.

With shaking hands, her mind filled with fear and curiousity, Chrissy opened the letter and began to read aloud.

My Angelic Daughter, Christine,  
I am sure, by now, you have noticed that I am not at home. I am no where in the laybrinth. In fact, I am no where in the opera house. I have left, taking my operas and all of my music with me. This is your home now. I have many things to sort out and decipher. I am so sorry you had to find out this way. Do not think that my leaving is your fault. Far from it my dear. I love you very dearly and you shall be in my thoughts every moment of my days. However, I must be alone now. If what you say is true, as you told me, I am sure this boy of yours will protect you until I have returned. I do not believe that he is such a person. Perhaps he will prove me wrong. I sincerely doubt it however. I do not know when I will be back or even if I will be back. I love you very much, my sweet daughter, and the angel of music will always be with you.  
Your loving father,  
and obidient servant,  
The Opera Ghost

Chrissy had finished. Tears began dripping from her face. They fell onto the paper in her hands, making her father's ink run. She turned to Marc.

"He left me, Marc!" she cried, "He left me!"

Marc said nothing, but rushed to her side to hold her. She began to sob on his shoulder.

"How could he just leave me!" she cried, "How! I thought...I thought..."

"He does, Chrissy," Marc soothed, "He does love you, or he wouldn't have said so. I'm sure he'll be back someday."

"But what if he doesn't?" Chrissy asked, "You heard what he said. He's not even sure if he's coming back."

"But you can't just give up hope." he said, "If he loves you like he says he does, and I know he does, then he can't bear to leave you and never see you again."

He pushed Chrissy back so that he could look into her soft brown eyes.

"He will come back."

Chrissy said nothing, but continued to sob. She rested his head on his shoulder again. Marc said nothing. He could only hold her, trying to soothe her pain. 


	11. Chrissy's Plan

Over the next year and a half, Chrissy lived alone below the opera house. Only having Marc for company, she spent anytime alone working on her own music at the piano. She began to write her own opera. The story of a poor orphaned girl whom no one loved except a rich, handsome boy, but she couldn't figure out who to end it. She wanted it to be a happy ending, but how could she do it? Whatever she would write, it didn't make since.

Luckily, Marc had not asked her to meet his parents again. She knew he would eventually. Marc had decided it would be best to set the matter aside for a while. At least until she had adjusted to living without her father.

Marc had not been lying when he had spoken to the ballet rat. He told Chrissy that he truely ment her being his fiancee. He told his mother this and, although she disapproved of him being engaged to a woman she and his father had never met, she gave him permisson to buy her a ring. Chrissy wore it on a chain around her neck.

"Why do you do that?" he asked her one evening as they sat talking in front of the fire. "After all, there is no one to hide this from, really. Your father...well-"

"My father is not here to disapprove of us, I know!" Chrissy said, "But...I'm sorry, I don't want to wear it on my finger until...until your parents know about me."

"What are you saying Chrissy?" Marc asked, "Do you mean you are ready to meet my parents?"

"Not entirely!" she said, "They probably have a preconceived idea about me and, no matter what that idea might be, I'm sure they are certainly not expecting this!"

Marc stood up, thinking, "What if," he said, "what if you could meet thim with a mask over your face."

Chrissy was a bit confused. "Marc, I think you're starting to go a bit mad." she said, "Have you forgotten what this is?"

"Not like that," he said, "Look, the New Year's Eve party is coming up. M. Firmin had decided that they are going to celebrate it like they use to in France. With a masquerade ball. You could wear some sort of mask to covers up any park to your face you wouldn't want them to see."

Chrissy thought for a moment. "Do you think it will work?"

"I do believe so," Marc replied, "The party is in two days. Would you go and meet my parents?"

Chrissy stood up. She took a deep breath, "Yes," she said, "I will."

Two days later, Marc left in his solider uniform, saying that he would be picking up Chrissy and meeting his parents at the opera house. Chrissy was actually waiting for him up on his balcony and would climb down when the carriage was awaiting her below his bedroom. She was dressed as a real ballerina. A mask covered the top of her face while a thick matching veil was over the bottom. To make things seem less suspicious, she had removed her usual mask from underneath. She seemed almost empty without it. But her feeling subsided as she climbed into the back of the carriage with Marc.

They arrived at the opera house where other couples and guests were, getting out of their carriages. Chrissy felt just like everyone else for a change. People looked in her direction and nodded recognition. She couldn't believe the attention she was getting. After a while, she forgot about all her problems and started to really enjoy herself. Especially when she and Marc began dancing.

"Having fun?" Marc asked her as they waltzed.

"For the first time in my life." she said.

"Then, Chrissy," he said, "Why don't you wear your ring on your finger?"

Chrissy thought for a moment. She removed her ring from her neck and slipped it on her left finger. Marc smiled. He lifted her and swung her around the dance floor. The other dancers paused to watch them. Everyone was whispering, wondering who this extrondinary girl was. It was almost shocking. Girls all over Europe practically threw themselves at the Viscount, yet he wanted none of them to be the Viscountess. And yet, somehow, this mysterious girl whom none of them had ever actually seen before had caught him with her spell. The ballet rats, all of whom also had crushes on the Viscount, couldn't help but feel somewhat jealous and envied this strange ballerina, yet they all felt happy for her. Chrissy over heard them saying how it was all very romantic.

After they had finished dancing, Marc lead Chrissy over to where his parents were talking with M. and Mme. Firmin. Chrissy remembered Marc telling her how they had let the opera house's finances slip a bit since the death of their daughter. They seemed almost lost as she watched them speak. Yet she knew that their could not be anyway that her father did it.

"Mother, Father," Marc said, grabbing their attention. The Viscount and the Viscountess turned in their direction. Marc pulled Chrissy a bit closer.

"Yes, Marc" his father asked.

"I would like to introduce you to my fiancee, Chrissy," he said.

Chrissy was suddenly nervous and self concious. She back away a bit, hanging her head.

"Mlle. Chrissy," Christine said, "It is a pleasure to meet you at last! Marc has told us both so much about you!"

"He's told me a lot about the two of you as well, Mme. Viscount." Chrissy replied.

"We hear that the two of you are to be married," Raoul said.

"Yes," Chrissy said.

"Have the two of you decided when?" Christine asked.

"Not quite yet mother," Marc replied. Chrissy was relieve that he didn't make her answer that time.

"You two should be married in June. I lovely spring wedding. Wouldn't that be simply romantic, Raoul?"

"Yes," Raoul answered, "And I'm sure Mlle. Chrissy here will make a beautiful bride."

"I'm sure she will," Christine answered.

"I know she will," Marc said, kissing her hand. Chrissy smiled. She didn't feel so nervous anymore. The music started playing again.

"Mlle. Chrissy," Raoul said, "May I have this dance?"

Raoul offered his gloved hand to her. He had been so kind to her, how could she refuse. She nodded, taking his hand. Raoul led her out onto the dance floor. Marc watched happily from the side until he and his mother went over and began dancing.

"I do believe Marc has fallen deeply for you," Raoul said, "He spends most of his time with you. He speaks of you more than often at home."

"He's made quite an impression on me, as well, my dear Viscount." Chrissy said, "I never thought I would be so lucky as to find someone as wonderful as Marc."

"Well, you've certainly stolen his heart, I can tell you that," he answered.

"He has stolen mine, as well, Monsieur," she said.

They continued walking for a while until the music suddenly stopped. Everyone in the hall was either standing in shock or screaming. Raoul and Chrissy stopped dancing as did Marc and Christine. Everyone was facing the stairs. At the top of them stood a figure dressed in red except for his white mask.

"The Phantom of the Opera," Raoul said, panic in his voice.

"Father," Chrissy whispered, also with panic, but from a very different reason.

Erik began to descend the stairs. Chrissy caught Marc's eye. They both knew they were thinking the same thing. But how could they get away now? Everyone would notice them and Erik would certainly find them sooner or later. What would they do then. They both knew they would have to sit it out.

"My old friends," he said as he descended the steps. "Having a party are we? Why it feels like we are back in France, wouldn't you agree M. Firmin."

Erik had stopped just before the Firmins. Chrissy looked around at a few faces. Some were panic stricken, others just scared, some looked at him with loathing. Wondering how he dared to speak to the Firmins after what he had done to them.

Erik continued on.

"I have written a new opera." he said, "La Morte del Mio Amore, this shall be the next opera you perform or disaster will strike. He walked over to Christine and Marc. Chrissy saw Christine turn white as he touched her cheek.

"And our own Mlle. Daae will take the lead." he said. No one dared correct him on her name.

"No one shall interfer with my plans," he said, standing before Raoul, "No one,"

Raoul and Erik just stared at each other. They each had a look as if the other was dying to drive a sword down his throat. After a moment, Erik's eyes fell upon Chrissy standing next to Raoul. He looked almost shocked.

Chrissy backed a bit in fear. She was sure that Erik wouldn't hurt her, but she still couldn't help but be afraid. Erik continued to stare down at her. He had a look of fury on his face.

Then, before he could say another word, he grabbed her wrist. "Let's go!" he said, not caring anymore about his opera. He dragged Chrissy from the opera and they both vanished in a blaze of smoke and fire. The entire room screamed when the flames arose. No one saw the leave, except Marc. He saw a medium sized hole close just as the fire vanish. He didn't dare go through it. Not just now, anyway.

Raoul rushed over to Christine and Marc.

"Are you ok?" he asked Christine.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, "Where is Chrissy?"

"The Phantom took her," he said, "She's gone!"

They looked at Marc, as if expecting him to be more shocked or furious, but he couldn't even pretend to be. He was too upset. A year and a half, they had been together and no one had stopped them. Now...

...would he ever see Chrissy again?

"I think it's best if we went home now." Raoul said.

"Yes, that would be best," Christine replied. "Are you going to stay here and try to find Chrissy, Marc?"

"No," he said, giving his parents a surprise, "No, if I know her, and I know I do, she's already forming a plan to escape."

"How can you be so sure?" Christine asked.

"She's a genius, Mother," Marc said, stepping out of the hall. Raoul and a very suspicious Christine followed him.

Through the catacombs of the laybrinth, Erik still held on the Chrissy's wrist. He didn't speak to her at all on the way down and she didn't dare try to make him speak. Finally they made it to their home. Erik stepped in, bringing Chrissy inside with him.

The room looked the same as it had when Chrissy had left earlier that evening, except a few more candles had been lit. Erik finally dropped Chrissy's wrist and walked down the steps. From the time it had taken Chrissy and Erik to leave the masquerade ball and make it inside their home, Chrissy had gone from scared to angry. When they had left the ball, she was afraid of what she would say to him when they got home, now, she wanted to say nothing.

Chrissy walked down the steps slowly and, without even a glance in her father's direction, went into her room and slammed the door.

For the first few hours in her room, Chrissy felt good that she had treated her father that way. He deserved it, after all, what with the spying on her and the forcing her to leave Marc and then leaving her for a year and a half. She would be happy if she never spoke to him again.

Around the third hour, when her clock had chimed 2 o'clock, she began to wonder whether this had been such a good idea. She was still furious with him for trying to break her and Marc up and for leaving her, but he had come back. He had come back, just as Marc had said. He had come back to be with her.

Chrissy was by no means ready to talk to her father. She didn't know what to say to him. And further more, he would definately force her to stay away from Marc. The only way she could stop this from happening was to bring Marc with her when she first spoke to him.

And she had the perfect idea to do it.

Erik changed from his costume as The Red Death and sat to work at his piano. He wanted to go to Chrissy's room to talk to her, but he just couldn't face her. He had missed her so much and he had been away from her for a year and a half and now...now she didn't even want to talk to him. He should have expected this.

Chrissy, however, was working on her plan to get her father and Erik together. The only way it would work was if she brough Marc's mother into the picture. She wrote two different notes. Both with her left hand so that neither one of the receipitants would recognize her writing. She stole her father's print and, after placing the melted wax onto the envelope, stamped it. On the front she wrote To: Viscountess de Chagny From: O.G.

As she finished writing this, she hated how this would affect Marc's mother. She had been ever so kind to her at the ball and now she was practically playing a trick on her. Yet, she had no choice. This was the only way.

Chrissy finished another note. However, she'd have to wait to seal it. On the front, she wrote To: Erik From Christine.

"I just this works," she said.

Slowly and quietly, Chrissy opened her bedroom door. She poked her head out a bit. Her father was busy working at his piano. She slowly stepped out, not daring to shut her door. She tiptoed quietly through the room, up and the stairs and over to the door. Keeping watch over her shoulder, Chrissy opened the door just enough to allow her body to slip through. Even slower, she shut it with the softest snap. Leaning against the wall for support, Chrissy took a few deep breaths of relief.

Marc did not go to the opera house with his parents the next day. They, of course, were not surprised. He said nothing to them on the way home. What they couldn't understand was why he did not want to report her kidnapping to the police. All he could say was, "You wouldn't understand."

Chrissy saw the Viscount's carriage pulled up outside the opera house. She was rather surprised that Marc was not there. Where could he be? Why didn't he come to see her. She wouldn't have time to ponder. Once the Viscount and the Viscountess were out of sight, she started running among the streets of New York to the Viscount's house. For daylight was just around the corner.

Marc was sleeping in a chair in his bedroom when she climbed onto the balcony. She heaved a sigh of relief. He must have fallen asleep there last night, having not gotten into bed due to worry. She started tapping on the door, as she always did when she came to his room to visit him.

Slowly, Marc opened his eyes. He heard a tapping in his bedroom. Perhaps it was just a dream. Chrissy had come to visit him many a time in the morning. It was probably just wishful thinking.

He sat up and looked over at the balcony. His eyes completely awoke as he saw Chrissy's smiling figure standing outside. Marc practically flew to the doors to let her in.

"Chrissy!" he cried, taking her in his arms, "I'm so glad you're all right?"

"I'm fine!" she said, "My father would never hurt me!"

"I know that," he said, "But, when he took you so suddenly, I...I thought he'd..."

"He'd what?" Chrissy asked.

"I thought he would leave again, but this time take you with him. I couldn't bear it if I lost you! I can't live without you!"

"I can't either, my love," she said, "That's why I've come up with a plan!"

"What?" he asked.

"First thing is first, I need to know how your mother seals her envelopes." Chrissy said.

"With wax!" he said, "Why?"

"What kind of wax?" Chrissy asked, "And what stamp does she use?"

"It's pink wax," he said, "and her stamp says De Chagny in fancy writing."

"Do you think you could get her wax and stamp for me?"

Marc was throughly confused by now. "What for?"

"I think that the only way I can ever convince my father that we love each other is if he meets you." she said, "But we can't just ask him to come and meet you. He'd refuse. Besides, I think it would be alot harder for him to hurt you if your mother was right there."

"I thought you said your father would never hurt anyone!" Marc said.

"If he doesn't have a reason," Chrissy said, "Your father, we can worry about later, but when your mother is there we...we can show her...we can tell her who I really am."

"I see," he said, "But what's the wax for?"

Chrissy held out the two envelopes. "I want you to give this to your mother saying you found it on the stage this morning. I'll leave this in the laybrinth where my father will be sure to find it."

"Oh, I see," he said, "When is the meeting set for."

"After the show's performance!" she said, "I've given your mother strict instructions on how to get down here. She shouldn't have any problems."

Marc quickly gathered the wax and seal from his parents bedroom. Chrissy quickly sealed the note.

"Now," she said, "I'll meet you on the roof of the opera house tonight during the show. Until then, I don't think it's safe for us to be together."

Marc nodded, picking up the note. They kissed before they left.

"Until tonight my Chrissy," he said.

"I'll miss you!" she said, running her fingers through his hair as he held her. "For a year and a half, we barely parted. It's going to feel like and eternity without you!"

"After tonight, nothing and no one will keep us apart again!" he said, "This just has to work!"

They kissed again. He watched Chrissy go out onto the balcony before he left his room. He took a deep breath and started for the opera house. 


	12. Misunderstandings

(Well, guys, this is it. The last chapter. I understand that there are alot of grammer and mechanical mistakes. I only use notepad and I do read through it, but I sometimes miss something. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed the story. I'm working a new Phantom story, so keep your eyes peeled for that one, too.)

Chrissy's plan had no flaws whatsoever that day. She had left the note for her father at the top of the stairs, as if it had slipped under the door. She had gone back to her room when she had returned. When she had left her room in the afternoon to sneak out again, she saw the ripped envelope and opened letter on the coffee table by the fire place. She ran out to the laybrinth. It would probably be eaiser just to stay out of her father's way until that evening.

Chrissy wondered among the laybrinth for a while. She grew bored after an hour and went up to the stables. Normally, she wouldn't go up to the stables during the day, but for some reason, she felt an urge to go up at this time. She had no idea why.

She loved to visit the horses. They were kind, gentle creatures that were always pleased for her company. This time of day, however, no living creature was in the barn. She sat down by the wall. She always loved the smell of horses. The laybrinth was always cold and no smells but that of ice and embers were found around her. Horse smell was so unique to her.

As she was resting among the hay and concrete, her hand rested among a small pile of hay. Hay that had gone astray on the floor and sweeped into that particular corner over the years. She felt the hay between her fingers. Then, a strange, paper-like material was found among the hay.

Curious, Chrissy pulled her finding out of the pile. It was a yellowish envelope with a wax seal the said NYC Opera on it. It must have been an old letter that the stable men never opened. Interested, she opened it and read something that made her stomach almost fall out.

Dear Mother, Father, and those I know,  
I hate to have to put my friends and loved ones through this but today I have found no reason to live. Tonight, after the stables are quiet and no one else is awake through the opera house, I will hang myself in the barn. Today, I have found no reason to live. I am truely sorry. One cannot be expected to live her life this way, in pain and agony. Some may be strong enough to live a life like that, but I am certainly not. I'm sorry and I love all of you. I'm sure you'll be able to get along without me.  
Love,  
Aniette Andre-Firmin

As Chrissy finished the letter, she was white as snow. So Aniette Firmin had not been murdered as the rats and the people of the the opera had thought. She had commited suicide. But why? What could this happy little rich girl be going through that made her so unhappy? If anyone knew pain and suffering, it was certainly Chrissy. Yet certainly throug her life she had been semi-happy. Every since she met Marc, she had been-

And then it hit her. The reason why either girl acted so jealous and hostile to each other. The look she gave Marc all the time. She knew that look only two well. Marc had that same look in his eyes when he looked at Chrissy. Aniette must have been in love with Marc as well as her.

"Oh, Aniette," Chrissy said, starting to cry, "I'm so sorry. I understand that must have been painful for you. If I had known...well, I don't know what would have happened but...oh Aniette, I just feel so terrible."

Her tears ran down onto the ink of the paper again. She pocketed the letter quickly. Perhaps she would get a chance to give this to the Firmins someday. It might give them closure.

Suddenly, she heard the sound the the barn door being opened from the outside. Chrissy stood up and rushed from the barn.

Marc went over to where the performers were practicing the new opera "La Morte del Mio Amore". Christine was playing the part of Rose, a rich girl who in the end commits suicide because the one she loves is tortured to death during some war. As she stepped off stage for the ballerinas to practice their dance, Marc rushed over to meet with her.

"Hello, Mother," he said, coming over to her.

"Marc, dear," she said, kissing his cheek.

"The opera was certainly finished quickly. When will it be ready?" he asked.

"Not for another week. I still need to learn the rest of my songs. I only know two." she said, "Is there something you need, my dear?"

"Well," he said, "Mother...I went looking for the Firmins and...well, I found this."

He handed the note to Christine. She turned very white once again.

"What does he want now?" she asked.

"Who is it from, Mother?" Marc asked, trying his best to sound convincing.

"Just an old friend," she said, "You go along now, my son, it's nothing for you to worry about."

"How you are wrong, my dear mother," Marc said.

"What was that?" his mother asked.

"I said I won't be long, my dear mother," Marc said, kissing her on the cheek again as he left.

Chrissy was already waiting for him on the roof top when Marc arrived. The ran into each other's arms as they saw each other.

"Did everything go alright, Marc?" she asked as he held her.

"Yes," he said, "and you?"

"Perfect!" she said.

They stayed on the roof top for a while, knowing that they had a little while before they needed to get down to the laybrinth.

"Chrissy," Marc said, "I can't wait any longer. Tomorrow, we marry."

"What?" Chrissy exclaimed, "But...how?"

"It's simple!" he said, "Tonight we're telling your father and my mother, right? Tomorrow morning, we tell my father and in the late evening, we'll go to the cathedrial and have one of the priests there marry us."

"Marc, are you sure?" she asked.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life!" he said, "Please, Chrissy, say that you will be my bride? Will you become my wife tomorrow?"

"Of course I will!" she cried. Marc kissed her again. He lifted her and swung her around. Everything was perfect.

As they let go, they heard the bells of the clock. It was 9:30. The show would be over in half an hour.

"We need to get to the laybrinth," Chrissy said, her voice a bit nervous.

"Then lets go!" he said, taking her hand as they ran off.

After the show, Chrissy took a deep breath and, without even worrying about changing out of her costume, she made her way to the basement. She followed the instructions exactly and found the stone steps with the candle. Taking a deep breath, she began to descend.

Erik, at 10 o'clock, left the side of his piano. He went to knock on Chrissy's door, but thought better of it. "She'll come out in time," he said, "And then everything will be alright."

He left his home behind and made his way over to the river.

Christine was looking around nervously. She didn't have the slightest idea of where Erik was planning to meet her. Until finally, he was upon her.

"Erik," she said.

"Christine," he said, a look of gratitude upon his face.

They were both silent. Neither one knowing what the other wanted.

"I'm so glad you asked me to meet you here, my dear," he said.

"Asked me to meet you here?" Christine asked, "What are you talking about."

"The note!" he said, "The note you slipped under my door this morning asking me to meet you here in the laybrinth."

"No, no," Christine said, "My son told me he found a note for me in the Firmin office which said you wanted to meet with me in the laybrinth or disaster would occur."

"I never wrote such a note!" he said.

"No," a voice from the shadows said, "But I know who did,"

Christine and Erik turned in the direction of the voice. Stepping into the candle light, a person appeared.

"You!" Erik cried.

"Marc!" Christine exclaimed in shock.

Erik looked at her in surprise, "You know this man!"

"Of course I know him!" Christine said, "This is my son, Marc Viscount de Chagny. How do you know him?"

"He's been galivanting with my daughter ever since he came to this opera house!" Erik cried, stepping toward him. Marc stood his ground.

"No he can't be!" Christine cried, "There must be some mistake! Marc is engaged to a lovely young girl we just met last evening."

"So!" Erik screamed, "My daughter is just your little whore, is that it!"

"No!" Marc cried, "If you'll just listen to me, M. Erik, Mother dear, I shall introduce you to both my fiancee and the Phantess of the Opera."

Marc turned around. Christine and Erik both saw something move among the shadows. They tried to look to see who it is.

"Come out, darling," Marc said, offering his hand. "It's alright, Chrissy, I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you."

Out of the shadows, into the candle, crept a small, pale hand which took hold of Marc's. Slowly, the little girl moved into the light where Erik and Christine could both see her at last.

"Mother, this is Chrissy." he said, "She's my fiancee and she's also Erik's daughter."

Christine turned to Erik, "This is her?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Daddy," she said, "This is my fiance, Marc and the Viscountess's son."

Erik was silent. He stared down at Marc's face.

"No," he said, "You are not going to marry him."

"Yes I am!" she said. Erik was shocked. "He loves me very much, don't you Marc?"

"More than anything," Marc said, taking her other hand, "And we wanted to tell the both of you together. We thought it would be eaiser...on you two."

"Why not your father?" Christine asked.

"We plan on telling him tomorrow morning." Marc said, "We...we want to get married tomorrow night."

Chrissy turned to her father again.

"Daddy, please believe me," he said, "He would never hurt me! Ever!"

Erik was silent, looking at Chrissy, then Marc, then back to Chrissy. Finally he nodded.

Chrissy screamed with joy. She ran over and embraced her father. He held her back, knowing in his heart that it was the last time he would ever hold his little girl. Sure he would see her again, but she would be a married woman then. But she would be happy. They soon let go. Chrissy ran over and threw her arms around Marc's neck. Her swung her around again before they kissed. Christine wiped away a tear of joy before she spoke again.

"But I have been wondering something," she said, "Why did you kill the Firmin's daughter."

"What?" Erik asked. "I didn't kill the Firmin's daughter."

Chrissy finally thought of something. Reaching into her pocket, she extracted the yellow paper she had found in the barn.

"Mme. Viscount," she said, "I...I found this. Today in the stables."

Christine took the note from Chrissy and read it over. She was crying heavily as she finished.

"She commited suicide!" she cried, "But why?"

"Because she was in love with Marc." Chrissy said.

"Oh my gosh!" Marc said.

"What is it, dear?" Chrissy asked.

"I...I spoke to Aniette that day." he said, "She...she told me that...she loved me. That I should be with her and...and not you."

"Well, that certainly explains it." Christine said.

"Having a little get together, are we?" someone said from behind. Everyone spun around to find Raoul.

"Raoul, darling," she exclaimed.

"You thought you were sly, didn't you!" Raoul screamed, standing next to Christine and taking her hand. "You'd lure my son and wife down here and try to do away with them or kidnap them. Well, you won't be getting away with it this time!"

"Raoul!" Christine cried.

"Father, no! You don't understand!" Marc cried.

"I understand perfectly!" he said. "Well, I'm not giving you a chance to even try any of your tricks!"

Without saying another word, Raoul extracted a pistol. He aimed it at Erik and began to pull back the trigger.

"Raoul, no!" Christine said, pushing the gun out of the way. But as she did, Raoul fired.

A blast of gun powder, a flash of light, and the laybrinth was silent. Erik stood before the Viscounts, perfectly fine. There was a gasp of pain as the four turned to look.

Chrissy was clutching the middle of her stomach. Blood was flowing out onto her white and green dress and over her hands. Her skin was turning even paler.

"No!" Marc cried, rushing over to her as she began to fall.

Marc held her and brought her gently to the floor. He rested one hand behind her head while the other over her blood-stained hands. The flow was uncontrolable.

"Chrissy," he said, trying not to panic, "Chrissy, you're going to be ok,"

Chrissy began to shed tears from the pain. Her mouth was starting to fill with her blood.

"Chrissy, sweetheart," Marc said, "What am I suppose to do? I can't live without you!"

But words had failed Chrissy. Beginning to choke, she looked at Marc with her beautiful deep brown eyes. After a few moments, the life that had sparkled in them was gone. She stared upward, her eyes soft and glossy.

Cradling her in his arms, holding her face close to his, Marc began to sob, loudly. He kissed her ice-cold forehead. His love, a girl who just a few minutes ago was so happy and full of life was now a bloody corpse in his arms.

What seemed like an eternity, Marc layed his dead bride upon the cold floor of the laybrinth. He stood up. His shirt and hands covered in Chrissy's blood.

"How could you do that to her?" Marc asked.

"Who was she?" Raoul asked.

"That was Chrissy!" Marc said, "She was Erik's daughter and you murdered her."

"I didn't mean to kill her, Marc," Raoul said.

"Only because you were trying to kill her father!" he screamed. "How could you do such a thing!"

Marc, standing there alone, began to sob. Raoul didn't dare go near him and Christine seemed almost afraid to.

Erik, however, stepped foreward and placed his hand on Marc's shoulder. Marc turned around to face him.

"Marc," Erik said, "I...I..."

Marc looked up into his face and, from the part that wasn't covered by mask, he could see a stream of tears on his face. Erik stepped over and embraced him.

By this time, Christine was sobbing on Raoul's shoulder. When Marc and Erik finally let go, he went over to his father and pulled the gun from his hands.

"You killed that poor, innocent little girl!" he screamed, pointing the pistol at his father.

"Marc, no!" Christine cried.

"Marc think about what you are doing!" Erik said, "This man is your father! You don't want him to die!" Erik looked right into Raoul's face. "None of us do."

"No," he said, "We don't. I don't."

And with those words, Marc raised the gun, put it to his temple, and pulled the trigger.

"No!" Christine cried as Marc's body fell to the floor next to Chrissy's.

Leaving her husband's side, she rushed next to Marc's body. But, it was too late, he had died before he hit the ground.

Sobbing, Christine knelt beside her son's and his fiancee's bodies. After a moment, Raoul bent down and helped her up. He was silently crying himself.

"Erik," Raoul said, "I'm-"

"Just go," Erik said, almost in a whisper. And with that, he turned around and made his way through the laybrinth."

Erik made it back to his home. Over the rushing of the river, he thought he could hear Chrissy's laughter. The ghost like sounds filled his ears. He walked into his home. It seemed so different now. He was alone again. Erik knew he couldn't stay here. He ran in and took his opera's, put out the fire, and left his home. He went back through the laybrinth.

He made his way to where Chrissy and Marc lay. He was planning to create a burial site for them both, but as he reached them, he found one thing. He felt almost proud as he looked upon it, but it was nothing compared to the sadness he felt. He only loved two women in his life. One them actually loved him back...and now she was gone. He bent down and picked up the only remains of his daughter. At least she had been lucky enough to find someone whom she loved and loved her back. Erik had been wrong about him. As he stood there, in the cold, dark catacombs, he wished he had had the chance to tell him that. Erik left the New York Opera House, never to return. Perhaps he would go back to Paris, or maybe he'd try London, or perhaps Madrid. He wasn't sure at the time. He knew now he would live out the rest of his life alone, with nothing but his operas and his daughter's mask. 


End file.
